Written In Ink
by Star Charter
Summary: "If you want to remember the little things, you should probably write them down." [A collection of drabbles inspired by the 2018 Inktober Prompts. Set in the Lucky Child continuity. LATEST: Chapter 29, "Double," revisits several previous prompts. Chapter 30, "Jolt," follows an unexpected development between Kagome & Minato. And chapter 31, "slice," concludes this project at last.]
1. Chapter 1: Poison

_It's Inktober 2018! Basically there's a list of prompts floating around out there; every day in October, artists draw a sketch inspired by those prompts. I (along with others) have decided to do a written version of this challenge. Going to be posting a set of three drabbles to this story/series every three days or so, or just posting daily; depends on how busy I get. These aren't particularly serious drabbles (I'm just doing this for fun) and some entries will be better than others. Your mileage may vary. I'm going to try to keep them short, around 300-500 words most likely (aside from this first one, which ran long)._

 _All of these will be set, unless otherwise specified, in the Lucky Child Continuity (or whatever you want to call it)._

* * *

 **Day 1: "Poison" (732 words)**

* * *

Eyeing the _onigiri_ on the plate, I asked, "You made this?"

"Yup!" Yusuke chirped—but of his apparent eager innocence I was not wholly convinced.

I mean, he seemed happy enough. Not scheming or anything, which was… odd. He grinned and beamed, rocking back and forth on his threadbare socks with a proud glint in his eye, watching as I looked between him and the rice ball in turns. Gingerly I poked it with the tip of a finger. It felt normal enough. Still warm, in fact. And it looked normal, too, albeit lumpy and misshapen (but that's what happens when a nine-year-old tries to make food unsupervised, I guess).

To be honest, I hadn't been sure Yusuke knew how to make rice. Seemed I was wrong.

After abiding a minute of my suspicious stares, he frowned. "It's not messed up, Keiko, I promise."

I had been indeed wondering if he'd embedded something yucky in the middle of the rice. "I dunno," I said, and at those words he bristled.

"Hey, I made it for you, so you gotta eat it!" he said.

"But why?"

He stared at the floor. "No reason."

It wasn't like Yusuke to demure like that, and his sad face had me sighing. After a deep breath I picked up the _onigiri_ and bit into it—only for my eyes to bug out of my skull, face contorting as I instantly spat the rice back out. Through coughs and gags I said, "Yusuke, what're you trying to do?! Poison me?!"

It was his turn for some eye-bugging. "Hey!"

"This much salt could kill an elephant!" I gestured at the swiftly disintegrating _onigiri_ lying forlorn and broken on the plate between us. "I thought you said you didn't—"

"I didn't, I swear!" He snatched the rice ball up in both hands and took an enormous bite, but he had to spit it back out again, too. "Ew, gross!" he said, wiping at his mouth. "What the heck! It tastes awful!"

"What's going on?"

My father stood behind me with hands on his hips, ladle dangling from his fist. One thick brow lifted so high it threatened to disappear under his chef's hat. A few of the restaurant's patrons were staring in our direction; apparently Yusuke and I had gotten a little loud.

Yusuke glared at the _onigiri_ as if it had personally offended him. "I made Keiko a rice ball but I think I put in too much salt."

Dad's expression softened. "Yusuke. What'd you go and try cooking a rice ball for, anyhow?"

His ire cooled; Yusuke sat down at the table with a huff, carefully staring at the floor. "No reason."

Dad stared. "Yusuke…"

"I just wanted to." He shrugged, but his eyes darted to my father's face and down again. "That's all."

Dad leaned the slightest bit in his direction, expression firm. " _Yusuke_ …"

Yusuke looked up at him again. Then he stared at the ruined _onigiri_. A sigh escaped his lips, grouchy and yet somehow… sad? My brow furrowed on reflex. What was that about?

"It's mother's day next week," Yusuke mumbled, not looking at anyone. A beat passed and he tossed his head, glowering like we'd insulted him. "There. You happy now, huh?"

Despite Yusuke's attempt at venom, Dad's expression only softened. "And you wanted to make something for Atsuko." He clapped Yusuke on the shoulder with a laugh. "Well, c'mon, then. It's about time you learned to cook a little, isn't it?"

Yusuke's eyes widened. "Y'mean you wanna help?"

"'Course I do." He turned his grin my way. "C'mon, Keiko. Let's show Yusuke here a thing or two," he said, and with a wink he headed for the kitchen.

Yusuke, smiling like a crescent moon, leapt from his seat and made to follow. I hung back, snatching at the hem of Yusuke's shirt as he passed. "Yusuke, wait."

He stopped walking and scowled. "What?"

"I'm sorry." A shrug, noncommittal but apologetic. "I thought you did it on purpose, and…"

He shrugged, too. "S'OK." And then he was smiling again, gleam in his eye devilish and bright. "It's not your fault you're an idiot and couldn't tell the difference."

"HEY!" I said, but he cackled and danced out of smacking range before I could give him a noogie—not to mention before I could threaten him with some retaliatory salt poisoning of my own.

* * *

 _My first instinct was to do something with Kurama and his plants for "poison," but that felt too obvious, so I went with this. Kid!Yusuke and NQK are always cute. Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2: Tranquil

**Day 2: "Tranquil" (300 words)**

* * *

"Enjoying your soup?"

He looked up. She sat across from him on an empty crate, legs crossed, chin propped on her elbow, elbow on her knee. A lazy, crooked grin curled her lips at the corners.

"You haven't said much," she continued. A pause. "But then again, that's kind of your style, now isn't it?"

Hiei grunted and hefted another spoon of ramen to his mouth. It tasted of salt, of spices he could not name, the rich flavor of meat perfuming every drop of broth. Delicious. Not that he'd ever tell her so.

Keiko's fingers drummed against her cheek. "I know I usually chat your ear off when we see each other, but I have homework I need to do." She pushed off her elbow and reached for the bag at her side. "Let me know if you need anything, OK?"

Hiei grunted again. Keiko only laughed, and then she fell quiet as she pored over the contents of a book.

He ate, and she read, in silence for a time. Then Hiei set aside his bowl. She did not look up, however. She merely turned a page, mouth shaping the words she read without speaking them aloud. Hiei watched, leaning against the stack of crates behind him. Wind drifted by, soft and smelling of warm spring damp. It stirred her hair, but still Keiko did not react—not even when the crates creaked as Hiei crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and let his chin fall forward.

It wasn't often he felt secure enough to sleep. Not out in the open like this, anyway. But there, in the alley, belly warm and full of ramen, he allowed himself to nap.

He did not allow himself to consider why.

Silence was his style, as Keiko put it—not sentiment.


	3. Chapter 3: Roasted

_Trivia: "This is a pen" is one of the first sentences Japanese speakers learn to say in English class, I'm told. Yes, this factoid is relevant to this drabble. Enjoy._

* * *

 **Day 3: "Roasted" (329 words)**

* * *

"… so basically, you only use the comma-plus-conjunction rule if the subject of the sentence repeats after the conjunction. 'The dog ran across the road and barked' doesn't need a comma, but 'The dog ran across the road, and it barked' _does_ need one." I tapped the word 'it' in the latter example, which I'd written in the notebook lying open between us. "See what I'm saying?"

"I mean, I do _now_ ," Kuwabara said as he tangled fingers in his pompadour, "but why didn't the teacher tell us this sooner?!"

Yusuke—who lounged on my bedroom floor brazenly reading a magazine full of models in bikinis while Kuwabara and I studied at the _kotatsu_ —let out a loud cackle. "What, you mean you didn't know that rule already, Kuwabara?" he said. "Wow, you really are an idiot!"

Kuwabara did a double-take and sputtered out an insult. I, meanwhile, crossed my arms and glared. "Says the guy who can't say more than 'this is a pen,'" I said.

Yusuke sat up, face reddening. "Hey, wait a—"

Kuwabara laughed. "Yeah! Says the guy who can't even read _kanji_!"

And then Yusuke's face purpled. "Well, you can go fu—"

I cut him off with a deadpan stare. "Says the guy who's only passing middle school because I doctor his homework."

"Says the guy who the guy who hasn't gotten above a 20 on tests in years!" Kuwabara added.

I grinned. "Good one."

"Fuckin' roasted!" Kuwabara concurred, and then we exchanged a crisp high-five and laughed heartily at Yusuke's expense.

The aforementioned, sensing defeat, slumped onto the floor and shoved his nose back into his bikini-mag. "You remember I could kill you with my finger, right?" he grumbled.

Kuwabara shrugged. "Says the guy who probably can't even write the word 'finger' without help."

" _Hey!"_

Predictably, the roasting continued late into the night—some of it verbal, and some of it caused by a blast of energy shot from Yusuke's bellicose fingertip.

* * *

 _It's weird for me to write short shit. I'm so used to something long, with a really defined purpose and whatnot, with a nice bow on the end, but sometimes these short bits defy that structure. Oh well! This is just fun._


	4. Chapter 4: Spell

**Day 4: "Spell"**

* * *

"What are you reading, anyway?"

I jolted, yanking my nose out of my book with a gasp. Kurama lifted a brow. While I composed myself, he placed his pruning shears on the table next to a tray of seedlings, carefully removing his gardening gloves finger by finger. I'd been reading while he gardened in the school greenhouse, but I should have known better than to read _this_ book in front of him—even when he was distracted by his precious plants.

I shut the book on my lap and folded my hands atop its cover. "It's nothing," I said, but it was too late—Kurama's brow rose even higher.

"Pardon my candor," he said, "but that doesn't look like nothing to me."

I sighed, moving my hands so he could see the cover of the leather-bound book. "Fine. A friend of mine found it." I didn't bother mentioning this friend's name was Kagome. "She thought it might interest me. So…"

He extended a hand. "May I see?"

It was no use hiding (because Kurama is annoyingly persistent), so I passed it over. He scanned the antique tome, brow lifting ever higher, and opened it to the page I'd bookmarked. At that his brows shot clean up, dangerously close to being annexed by his hairline.

"It's a spell," he said.

"… yeah."

"A spell of sight. To awaken one's inner power." He shot me a pointed look. "Do I need to say it?"

"No, but you probably will, anyway," came my cheerful reply.

And he did not disappoint me. Kurama rapped the page with his knuckles. "This is patently ridiculous."

I shrugged. Wheedled, " _Is it,_ though?"

"Yes. Undoubtedly. You have to—" (he looked at the page and read a moment) "—you have to stand naked in the light of the full moon in a cold stream and drink holy tea from a mug made of sacred earth." Another pointed look in my direction. _"Upside down."_

I admit his description, delivered with deadpan disbelief, made me laugh. "Yeah, well. It's only ridiculous if it doesn't work."

"It's not going to work. "

"It might, though."

"But it _won't_."

"But it _might!_ "

Kurama pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Need I remind you that it's January?" he said, looking at me with one vivid green eye. "You'll catch your death of cold."

"Oh, you worry too much." I leaned forward, hand outstretched. "Now gimme that. I have a spell to memorize."

He clucked between his teeth like a vexed mother hen, but I ignored him—and when I came back to school the day after the next full moon with a headcold and a scald mark around my mouth, and no awakened powers to speak of, he didn't even bother to say "I told you so."

His knowing smirk and offer of a healing tea said it all.

* * *

 _(479 words)_

 _This spell was referenced in chapter 82 of Lucky Child. Couldn't resist spelling (pun) out the details in full when this prompt came up. Hope you liked it!_


	5. Chapter 5: Chicken

**Day 5: "Chicken"**

* * *

When Kurama showed up on my doorstep with a box under his arm and a dour look on his face, I assumed he probably wanted to chat about homework or a project or something; maybe he was building a diorama in that box or something, IDK. "Oh, hey man," I said as I ushered him inside. "What's in the—?"

The box shook. He clamped his arm over it a little tighter, looking annoyed. I lifted a finger and pointed while backing away slowly.

"Please tell me whatever's in _that_ ," I said, "can't, y'know… _eat me?_ " With Kurama you just never know.

His face spasmed like he'd bitten into a bitter lime. "I will confess that they bite," he said, at which point I scuttled straight into the wall behind me, "but they aren't quite big enough to eat anyone, I'm afraid."

Before I could truly panic (though of course I was already panicking a little) he pulled open the cardboard flaps atop the box and thrust it in my direction. I bit back a scream when something moved inside it—and then the scream morphed into a squeal of shocked delight when three tiny sets of furry ears appeared over the box's side.

"Oh my _god_." Immediately I reached for one of the kittens, cuddling the tiny black ball of fluff to my chest as I held back delighted tears. "Where did you get them?" I whisper-sobbed, and without compunction I buried my face in the kittens belly (and yes, it did dig its claws into the sides of my face, but I don't even care, it was _too stinking cute_ and I just couldn't take it).

"I found them in this box on the street." He shut the lid when one of the other kittens tried to hop out of the box, handsome face arranged in an irritated scowl. "I searched for the mother, but she…" Here he paused. Delicately intoned: "She will not be coming back for them, I'm afraid."

"Oh." I pulled my face away from the kitten, holding it protectively against my chest. Kurama didn't need to elaborate for me to know what he meant. "Well, shit."

"Indeed." He glared at the box as it shook, hand firmly holding the top shut. A few deep scratches marred his smooth hands, cuts angry and red and arranged in small sets of bloody streaks. "I thought of giving them a dish of milk, thinking it might curb their ire, but…"

I shook my head. "Bad idea. Cats are lactose intolerant." I held up the cat and looked it over; it meowed, eyes enormous above its tiny nose. "Let's see, sweetie. You look about five weeks old, maybe?" It meowed again, affording me a view of its pink mouth and tongue. "Well, you certainly have teeth." I reached for the box and put the kitten back inside with its siblings. "You watch them a minute; I'll be right back."

Kurama, looking utterly bemused, did as he was told and waited in the hallway as I walked into the kitchen, dodging around the cooks as they toiled away at dinner service. Snagging some cooked and shredded chicken wasn't difficult, though sneaking out of the kitchen with it as well as a shallow dish was a bit harder. Soon Kurama and I were able to abscond upstairs, however, where I dished out the chicken and bade Kurama open the box. He sat beside it and did so with expression most dubious. As soon as the light hit the kittens, they started meowing—but they shut up quick when I put the dish into the box with them. As one they dived upon it, wolfing the food down with small chirps of contentment and satisfaction.

Kurama looked surprised by their behavior, but judging by the scratches festooning his hands, he probably thought of the cats as tiny little demons incapable of any form of docility. The thought made me giggle. The sound drew his attention, green eyes flicking swiftly in my direction.

"Thank you, Kei," he said. "I had a feeling you might know what to do with them." A grimace. "I've never even held a kitten before."

"Well, Kuwabara is the real cat person of our friend group. We should call him and—" I stopped. Regrouped. Blurted: "What the heck do you _mean_ , you've never held a kitten before?!"

"I mean that I have never held a—"

"I mean I _heard_ _you_? But I don't think I understand how that's possi—oh." I stopped, blinking at him. " _Oh_. Oh my _god_."

"Is it really such a shock?" he remarked, tone dry.

I didn't reply. I just stared at him, mouth agape, because _holy shit he was actually serious_.

And that just wouldn't do. Kneeling, I looked into the box and saw that the kittens had finished their piranha-like devouring of the meat; I grabbed one up at once, hands gentle but fast. "Here," I said, handing the cat to Kurama; he reached out on reflex and took it before realizing what was about to happen. At said realization he sputtered something about that being _quite enough_ , thank you, but I ignored his kvetching and grabbed the second kitten, and then the third, putting one in each of his hands and the last atop his folded arms with a fiendish giggle. As he juggled the squirmy, mewling kittens, looking every inch a fish completely out of water, I sat back on my heels and beamed. "There. Isn't that nice?"

Kurama looked unconvinced of this assertion as he tried desperately to hold one of the wriggly cats; one of the other cats was busy scaling the length of his sleeve so it could bat at the tips of Kurama's hair; the third had already somehow ensconced itself in his hair, one little paw splayed across Kurama's forehead for purchase. "Are kittens typically this… rambunctious?" Kurama said, expression comically desperate.

"Yup!" I patted his knee and stood, grinning as his expression turned to one of outright panic. "Stay right there. I'll call Kuwabara."

"Kei," he said, and at the sound of his urgency one of the kittens gave a happy meow. "Wait just one minu—!"

But I was already gone, laughing as his dejected sigh (and the kittens' enthusiastic meows) followed in my wake.

* * *

 _(1,050 words... this one ran away with itself a bit.)_

 _Because Kurama + kittens makes my ovaries do backflips. TMI? Maybe. But I don't care because CUTE._

 _This has been the toughest prompt yet to conceptualize because "CHICKEN?!" WTF do I do with that? The obvious answer was to write about someone being scared, but I didn't want to go that route. Luckily an anonymous user on Tumblr wrote to me recently and said: "idea: kurama somehow ends up taking care of a bunch of kittens, and the first person he thinks of to help is NQK." That Ask (and my Work Wife, whose cat LOVES CHICKEN) inspired this prompt. Thank you so much, anon! You didn't know it, but your Ask really helped me when I was struggling!_


	6. Chapter 6: Drooling

**Day 6: "Drooling"**

* * *

As the overgrown and snapping Venus-flytrap-hydra-monster bore down on him, a tangle of writhing vines scrabbling at his ankles like grasping hands, it was all Yusuke could do to shout, "Where the fucking hell is Kurama when you need him!?"

In answer, the plant-monster's eighteen heads hissed in unison, and then the thing surged forward. The serving as its legs sounded like piss hitting the inside of a toilet as they slid across the alley's concrete ground, but Yusuke didn't have time to make a snarky remark. He fended the thing off with a broken chair he'd found next to a dumpster like a lion tamer warding off the advances of a vicious beast, kicking it tendrils away as its small heads bit and snapped at the chair's legs. Drool flung from its bright red mouths and splattered on Yusuke's face; he screeched in disgust and flailed the chair about even harder.

Keiko—who stood nearby on top of the lid of a closed dumpster clutching a baseball bat—shouted something about finding a payphone to call Kurama, maybe bring in reinforcements, but Yusuke just shook his head and lobbed an unspoken curse skyward. Hopefully Koenma could hear it, wherever that bastard baby was. The stupid plant had just regrown the parts of it Yusuke's Spirit Gun had blasted away, and what was it Koenma had said? Oh, that's right: That jerkfaced asshole had said this case would be _easy as pie_ , but _nooo-oooh—_

"Nah, no time!" Yusuke shouted. "We gotta, _we gotta trap it or something_ , then call Kurama, and then—"

Seven of the plant-demon's mouths chomped down on the crossbeam connecting two of the chair's legs. The thing was all thin vines, heads no bigger than apples but still really fucking toothy, and somehow it managed to wrench the chair out of Yusuke's hands with a wild flail. No way should a thing that fucking skinny be so strong, but Yusuke only had time for a mere moment's indignation before the thing skittered toward him with mouths wide open and hungry.

"YUSUKE!" Keiko bellowed. "BATTER UP!"

He turned just in time to see the baseball bat sail out of her hand and fly straight for him, and as he snatched it out of the air Keiko aside atop the dumpster and reached for one of its lid. Her plan flashed into place like a lightning strike. Grinning, Yusuke dodged out of the way of the charging demon, letting it sail past him and then backpedal in a nasty tangle of roiling vines as it tried to slow down and lunge for him again.

This time, Yusuke didn't dodge. This time he held his ground as the demon came his way, bat held Babe-Ruth-style over his shoulder.

"Swing, batter-batter, _swing!_ " he cried as the thing came close, and the minute it came within range, he swung for the fucking fences.

The bat hit home right in the center of the plant's main mass. It screeched and sailed upward, heading toward the dumpster as Yusuke intended—and where Keiko lay in wait. The creature slammed against the inside of the open lid and fell like a stone into the cavity of the dumpster below; Keiko in turn slammed the lid shut after it, sitting on the metal flap as the flytrap screamed and flailed and beat its vines against the inside of the container. The thing rang like a drum, lid bucking but not opening beneath Keiko's weight.

Yusuke rested the end of the bat on the ground and leaned on it, grin mischievous yet indolent. "So whaddaya think? See a baseball career in my future?"

Keiko glared, flinching as the demon struck and partially lifted the lid she sat upon. "I think one of us had better call Kurama before we start our careers as a Venus flytrap's latest snack, that's what I fucking think!"

Yusuke cackled as she snarled at him—but when the plant demon screamed again and hit the dumpster's lid with renewed vigor, he cursed and left the alley at a dead run.

Yeah. For sure. It was time to call Kurama, Yusuke reckoned.

He just hoped he remembered the dude's phone number, because if he had to ask Keiko for it, she'd probably be more likely to kill him than the stupid plant monster.

* * *

 _(721 words)_

 _The above is one of the many cases Keiko helped Yusuke with when Botan was temporarily out of commission, I like to think. I recently bought a fake Venus flytrap for my workdesk; it inspired this prompt._


	7. Chapter 7: Exhausted

**Day 7: Exhausted**

* * *

She noticed him do a double-take when she walked into the kitchen, but to it she did not respond. Shizuru just went to the refrigerator and hunted up a protein shake (Kazuma always had them around, constant as the sky above) and chugged, leaning heavily against the counter to take the weight off her shaking knees. Damn things hadn't stopped trembling, and her muscles hadn't stopped burning, since she left Kuroko's compound in the mountains. Even after sleeping for so long, Shizuru's eyes scraped inside their sockets, dry and desiccated and drooping with the need for rest. Blearily she shuffled back toward the door, feet in their slippers scuffing over the tile floor—

"So." A beat. "Beautician school?"

Shizuru paused. Looked over her shoulder. Kazuma sat at the kitchen table, books spread around him in a haphazard half-moon. He'd folded his hands atop the table, shoulders tense with worry as he stared her down.

Shizuru turned away again. Said, "Yep."

His voice climbed higher. "So they make you run marathons in beautician school these days?"

"What, you didn't know?" she muttered. "Hairdressing is an endurance sport."

"Shizuru—"

"I'm _fine_ , kid." She allowed herself to glance at him. "Just had a lot on my plate this month."

"But you've been sleeping for _days_ ," he wheedled, and then his dark eyes narrowed. "If there was something wrong, you'd tell me, right? I know I'm supposed to focus on school and you probably wouldn't want me to worry, because you're stubborn like that, but Shizuru, if somethin's wrong and you need—"

She crossed the room, bent, and put her arms around his neck before he could finish speaking.

Kazuma froze. Shizuru held still until he relaxed and looped arm over her back. For a moment they just held there, awkward and silent—because this wasn't normal for them. They didn't _hug_.

But recent events weren't exactly normal, now were they? And Kazuma—perceptive little brat—could clearly sense it, even if he couldn't put a name to the things his intuition tried telling him.

"I'm fine, kid," Shizuru muttered. "I promise."

"O-OK."

She pulled away. She said nothing (and neither did Kazuma) as she left, climbed the stairs, and collapsed across her bed again.

She'd promised him she was fine.

She hadn't promised him that he'd be fine, too, even though she'd thinking it.

That's why she'd gone away, in the end, and why she'd been asleep for a week. That's why she'd put herself through the wringer, had broken herself down and built herself back up again, had gone away to "beautician school" and lied through her teeth about it. She'd done it for _him_ , so she could watch his back outside the ring while he fought the demons in it. She'd done it so he could be fine, and could continue being fine—even if in the act of protecting him, she stopped being fine herself.

But baby bro was the anxious sort. She'd keep her promises to herself.

He was a perceptive little brat, after all.

And besides.

Even with promises left unspoken, she got the feeling he sensed the words she couldn't bring herself to say.

* * *

 _(529 words)_

 _Shizuru after coming home from Kuroko's place for training, circa chapter 82._


	8. Chapter 8: Star

**Day 8: "Star"**

* * *

Yusuke listened with only half an ear as Tetsuo waxed poetic about his summer spent in Texas—a place Yusuke had never given two shits about because cowboys were really lame. Keiko, however, liked that one musician in the cowboy hat (what was his name? Johnny Yen? John Money?). She looked up as Tetsuo said the name of the state. For a second she listened, eyes narrow, but she glanced down at her homework again as Tetsuo ranted about cactus, and dude ranches, and something called "brisket" he swore tasted good. Yusuke thought the name of that food, whatever it was, sounded like vomit; Keiko just chuckled under her breath when he muttered as much, head bent so far over her math homework her nose almost touched the page. Although Tetsuo stood at the front of the class, voice loud as he bragged about his overseas trip ("I rode a real, live horse!" he told the crowd who had gathered to listen), Keiko appeared to only barely pay attention, if she even paid attention at all. The only reason Yusuke paid attention was because Texas was more interesting than math homework, and—

Johnny Cash. Right. He remembered now. The guy in the poster on the back of Keiko's bedroom door who flipped the bird at the camera was named Johnny Cash. Yusuke thought that guy seemed cool. So maybe Tetsuo's trip to Texas wasn't that stupid, after all, if that Johnny guy was from there. Yusuke leaned back in his chair and swung his feet up onto his desk, hands deep in his pockets, and stuck his tongue out at Keiko when she gave him a disapproving look. She just rolled her eyes and went back to her homework.

"Texas is actually called the Lone Star State. And while I was on the dude ranch," Tetsuo was saying with overstated swagger, "they taught us a song."

"A song?" someone asked.

"Oh, yes!" Tetsuo's head wagged so hard, it was a wonder his eyeballs didn't fall out. " _All_ Texans know it. If you sing the first part, Texans will answer you back with the second part without thinking." He looked smug. "It's a call and response, you see, and even though it's a Texan secret, they taught the song to me."

One member of the crowd said, "How does it go?"

Tetsuo shrugged. He smirked. "It's a secret," he said, and of course everyone in the room started begging and pleading to know how the song went. Yusuke scoffed as he watched Tetsuo string the crowd along. Tetsuo was a blowhard, but the kid knew how to manipulate people. Just as Yusuke started to tell Keiko they had a junior politician in the class, though, Tetsuo let out a long sigh.

"Oh, fine!" he said with an obviously fake laugh. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you! Just calm down!"

("At _least_ get them to buy you lunch in exchange for the song, dumbass," Yusuke hissed under his breath. So much for their budding junior prime minister. Yusuke would've love to have someone like that on his blackmail list, but whatever…)

Tetsuo took a deep breath. He postured, puffing out his chest as he slowly looked at his classmates, all of whom held their breaths as he met each of their eyes in turn. Eventually he took another deep breath; the tension in the room tightened further, pulled so taught Yusuke considered screaming out a curse word to watch everyone flinch.

Tetsuo beat him to the punch. He raised his hands in front of him as if he was about to clap them and sang out, English words a mangled mess: "The stars at night, are big and bright—"

Out of nowhere came a sharp _clap-clap-clap-clap!,_ and then someone merrily sang, "Deep in the _heeeaaart_ of Texas!"

Tetsuo froze, hands still held far apart—because he hadn't been the one to clap, and neither had he been the one to sing. No, that rhythmic set of claps and that belted bellow of a lyric had come from elsewhere. It had come to Yusuke's left, in fact, and Yusuke (along with the rest of the class) turned at once to see who'd done it.

Keiko sat in her desk with her hands raised in front of her, palms touching… like she had just finished clapping. She looked as confused and shocked as Tatsuo himself, staring down at her hands like they weren't her hands at all, brows hitched so high on her forehead they looked almost fake. The silence in the classroom thickened as Keiko continued to stare at her hands, mouth moving as if she was trying to work out a particularly difficult math problem in her head.

Eventually Keiko noticed the silence, or felt the eyes on her, or something, because she looked up. Her face darkened. She stuffed her hands under her desk and out of sight, nervous chuckle slipping from her mouth like feet on ice. Tetsuo's eyes narrowed.

"How," Tetsuo said with the careful deliberation of one whose thunder had been thoroughly stolen, "did you know when to clap?" His eyes narrowed further. "And how did you know what words to sing?"

Keiko laughed again. "I. Uh." Her eyes flickered down and up and down in a circle; Yusuke knew that look. She was about to tell a lie, and badly, because Keiko was the worst liar he'd ever seen and her habits were as easy to read as a subway map. She hesitated before pasting on a 100-watt smile (another of her many liar's tells), and then she declared, "I really like country music from Texas!"

Tetsuo looked as unconvinced as Yusuke felt. "Really."

"Yes. Really." She shut her textbook and tucked it under her arm as she stood up. "I've gotta go. Bye!"

And with that, Keiko fled.

Tetsuo watched her go with a scowl, but when he tried to return to the topic of that secret Texas song, he found his crowd of listeners had dispersed. Keiko had, after all, sung for them the no-longer-secret song, and Tetsuo's attention-grabbing tactics had been spoiled.

Yusuke didn't care a lick about any of that, though. Screw Tetsuo; kid was as bad at working a crowd as Keiko was at telling lies.

And she _had_ told a lie just then. Only, she also hadn't—because she _did_ love some music from Texas. That Johnny Cash poster on the back of her bedroom door, the one where he flipped the camera the bird, proved it. Keiko hadn't lied. She did love country music. But that look on her face was her lying face, which meant something about the truth she'd spoken was, no doubt about it, totally untrue.

But how could someone lie and tell the truth at the exact same freakin' time?

Yusuke stared after Keiko, at the classroom door, in silence, and wondered.

* * *

NOTES

 _1,147 words._

 _I'm from Texas, for those who missed that detail. Old habits are hard to break..._

 _It was hard to write these last month as I had to also write LC itself at the same time (and prepare "The Ghost in You" for publication; go check that fic out!), but I'll finish these this month most likely. I have plans for a lot of them but just didn't have time._

 _I've always wanted to write something for LC that incorporates this Texas song. It's on YouTube if you want to hear it. Shout "the stars at night/are big and bright" in any Texas restaurant and people WILL sing and clap back to you on reflex. The song isn't a secret, either; Tetsuo just wanted to feel special._

 _And of course, this is one of the many things Yusuke observed about NQK's behavior that made him wonder about her. Telling lies and truths at once? Strange, indeed._


	9. Chapter 9: Precious

**Day 9: "Precious"**

* * *

Hiei was… particular, about his sword.

Demon World was not a gentle place. "The weak are meat; the strong eat," as the saying went. In the days after acquiring his Jagan, energy thoroughly depleted, he'd relied on his sword to defend himself. He hadn't wanted his sword. He'd _needed_ it. Its blade had saved him time and again—as had the blades of all the swords he'd used over the years. He thought of them as one sword, even though there had been many. When one broke, he replaced it, swords reincarnating in his hand time and again, an old friend returning over and over through the years. All his broken swords had the same resilient soul, it seemed.

Which is why when Meigo eyed the sword's dirty scabbard and reached for it, muttering something about the dirt looking suspiciously like dried blood she did not want on her carpet, Hiei jerked the sword away. He held it to his chest. He glared. He might have been in Human World, standing half dressed in the warm bedroom of a powerless human girl, but that was no reason to divest himself of the weapon that had protected him for so long.

But Meigo did not understand. She looked at the sword and Hiei and the sword again, and she scoffed. "OK, Sméagol," she said, shifting the wad of dirty clothes he'd given her on her hip. "Be that way."

Hiei scowled. "What did you call me?"

Meigo hunched. She hooked her fingers like claws "My precious!" she rasped, voice reedy and high and strange—and then she hissed at him, eyes bugging from her head, mouth a gaping red hole in her normally smiling face. "My, _precioooouus_!" she rasp-screamed, and when she was done and she straightened her back again, she looked oddly pleased with herself.

Hiei sensed she was making a joke at his expense; he fingered the sword in his hand, staring at Meigo without blinking. "And just _what_ was that ridiculous performance of yours supposed to mean, exactly?" he deadpanned.

Meigo shrugged. A smirk tugged at her lips. "Nothing, Sméagol."

"That _isn't_ my name."

"Might as well be." Eyes rolling, she hefted his laundry and walked from the room—off to wash his clothes like she always did, still eager to help him despite his refusal to let her clean the sword (not to mention his unspoken suggestion he might flay her alive for her inscrutable human jokes). "Keep your damn sword," she said over her shoulder. "Just try not to get blood on my carpet, eh?"

Hiei waited for her to leave before dropping the sword in the middle of her bed.

She'd said no blood on the carpet.

She hadn't mentioned anything about her comforter.

* * *

NOTES:

 _456 words_

 _Hiei, you little shit._


	10. Chapter 10: Flowing

**Day 10: "Flowing"**

* * *

Keiko pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin upon them. Moodily, eyes hooded and lips pursed, she looked ahead over the training ground. "I think I hate him," she muttered. "Just a little, though."

Beside her, Botan frowned. "Who do you mean, Keiko?"

"Kurama." Keiko blew out a breath, aimed upward so her bangs fluttered. "I think I might hate him a little."

Botan's scandalized jaw dropped at once. "Keiko, I'm surprised at you!" she said, twisting upon the leaf-covered ground to face her. "What a mean thing to say about your friend!"

But Keiko shrugged the admonishment aside. "Oh, come off it." One hand lashed out. "Just _look_ at him."

"Look at him?" Botan repeated. Dutifully she turned her face to the training ground, but she wasn't sure what she was supposed to be seeing. The boys sparred as they always did, their breath forming misty clouds in the cold and watery winter sunshine. Kurama wielded his customary whip, lashing it about as Hiei tried to break through that thorny barrier—but what about that typical scene had roused Keiko's ire so?

Eventually Botan gave up. "Oh, I'm sorry, Keiko," she sighed, "but I'm afraid I don't get it."

Keiko's pursed lips even tighter, a tiny pink spot beneath her nose. "Oh, c'mon. You really don't see it?"

Botan looked again, confused. This time she made it her mission to study Kurama thoroughly indeed. His shoes were polished and shined, his slacks crisp and pressed, his shirt likewise somehow free of wrinkles despite the day's grueling training. Good heavens, Botan thought. How did he keep himself looking so polished amidst such exertion? Though he had arranged his delicate features in an expression of intense concentration, that look did not detract from the handsomeness of his face—a face free of sweat and grime, Botan saw now that she observed him closely. Why, even his thick, lustrous hair remained completely free of tangles as he completed a neat backflip and dodged away from Hiei's sword, and his hair didn't get in his face even _once_ as he pelted across the training field. Shiny and thick, rippling like silk on the breeze, his mane flowed around him like a sheet of satin. The sun caught its deep ruby color and lit it up like a spotlight illuminating a precious stone.

Well. That just didn't seem fair. When Botan trained with Hiei to master her newly acquired Jagan Eye, she always looked a horrible fright afterwards! How in the three worlds did Kurama manage to—?

Keiko sighed. When Botan glanced her way, she saw Keiko fingering the longest end of her bangs, staring at the tips of that hair with an expression most sullen.

Suddenly, Botan understood.

"Oh. I see." Botan arranged her hands neatly on her lap and turned up her pert nose. "I think I hate him, too, now that you mention it."

Keiko smirked. "Did you know some of my classmates tried to bribe me to find out what kind of shampoo he uses?"

Botan gasped. "What?! No!"

"Yes! 5,000 yen!" Keiko snickered. "They might be in Kurama's fanclub, but they have serious hair envy."

"As do I!" Botan leaned close to Keiko and whispered in her ear, "So what do you think, hmm? Could we make it to his house, sneak into his bathroom, check out his products and make it back here before they finish training for the day?"

Keiko perked up at once. "We could call it a stealth mission!"

"And tell them we're leaving to go train!"

"A perfect excuse!"

"Is something amusing?" Kurama called. "Kei? Botan?"

The aforementioned had been huddling together and giggling; at the sound of their names, they sat up ramrod straight in unison and grinned, each trying her best to look innocent indeed. Botan gave a nervous chuckle as Kurama stared at them, one of his brows hitched high across his forehead.

"Oh." Botan laughed again. "Nothing!"

"Yeah," Keiko concurred with a frantic nod. "Nothing!"

Kurama gave them a Look—but then he smiled, and shook his head, and turned back to the training ground.

For a moment, Botan and Keiko sat in silence. Then Keiko grinned. She drew in a deep breath. Botan realized too late what she was about to do, and thus Keiko's cry rang out unhindered.

"Your hair is looking particularly luscious today, by the way!" Keiko called after Kurama—and Botan gave a delighted, shocked shriek before tackling Keiko to the ground and clamping a hand over her grinning mouth.

Kurama, of course, stared at them as if they'd each sprouted antlers, and with another shake of his head he went back to training.

Two days later and with a knowing look, though, Kurama gave them each a bottle of his homemade hair tonic, leaving Botan to wonder just how often the poor boy was accosted for the secret of his lovely, flowing hair.

* * *

NOTES:

 _(823 words)_

 _Kurama's hair is the subject of much scrutiny..._


	11. Chapter 11: Cruel

**Day 11: "Cruel"**

* * *

Kuwabara eyed my plate of tofu and vegetables with his usual good-natured attitude. "Just veggies today, huh?"

I nodded. I sat across from Kuwabara and Yusuke in a booth; from the glowing grill between us wafted the scents of charred meat and roasted veg. I carefully laid a strip of tofu across the grill, carefully turning it as its delicate exterior began to brown and sizzle. My mouth watered; the sauce coating the tofu was spicy, sweet, and utterly delicious.

It didn't suit Kuwabara's tastes, though. "Wanna try my pork?" he said, gesturing at the strips of meat roasting on his portion of the grill. "It's really good."

"That's OK. I'm good with the tofu."

Yusuke rolled his eyes. "Didn't you know, Kuwabara? Grandma here only eats meat if her parents cook it. She's picky like that."

I glared. "I'm not picky."

"Yes, you are."

"No. I'm just vegetarian most of the time."

"Same thing."

"Not the same thing."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is—"

Kuwabara leaned toward me with a frown. "So you don't eat meat ever?" he said.

"Not unless my parents cook it." I was too grateful for their secondhand parentage to reject their gift of home cooked food. "But yeah. No meat for the most part."

"Why's that?"

Yusuke rolled his eyes again. "She doesn't like being cruel to animals because she's a bleeding heart."

I raised my grilling skewer with a glower. "This bleeding heart'll stab you in the hand if you keep making fun of her."

Yusuke snatched his hand away from the grill even though his beef was in danger of getting immolated. I smirked.

"And it's not because I'm a bleeding heart," I continued. "It's just… if there were people bigger and stronger and smarter than me who thought I tasted good, I still wouldn't want to be eaten by them no matter how low a lifeform they think I am." A shrug. "Figure animals might feel the same way."

Kuwabara looked thoughtfully at his food after I explained myself, but he still finished his meal of meat—not that I minded. Other people's diets weren't my business, and he could eat whatever he liked no matter how I felt about animal rights. But as Yusuke called me a softie again as he downed an enormous plate of BBQ shortribs, face slathered with savory red sauce that looked alarmingly like blood, I couldn't help but hope my words would stick with him in particular.

Soon Yusuke would be bigger and stronger (though not necessarily smarter, that dimwit) than humans.

Soon he'd learn he came from a line demons who viewed human beings as little more than beef cattle.

Soon he'd be offered the chance to eat humans, lifeforms some demons considered lesser, as he came into his demonic heritage.

I could only hope that he held true to canon, when the time came, and that he'd see at least that particular food source my way—and abstain, as he was meant to.

* * *

 _NOTES_

 _(500 words)_

 _I might be a vegetarian, but I'd never force my habits on someone else and I really don't care what other people eat... Unless what other people eat is people. GROSS._


	12. Chapter 12: Whale

**Day 12: "Whale"**

* * *

The line of text Kaito recited for Keiko does not, perhaps, actually matter in the context of the moment in which it was uttered. He simply uttered it, and he followed his utterance by declaring, "That line is, without a doubt, the most evocative and engaging opening line of any novel ever written."

This declaration was the important part of the exchange, so far as Kaito was concerned, and he expected Keiko to agree with his assessment of its merits. She was one of the few, the select, whom Kaito viewed as being very near his equal. No doubt she would be of his same opinion, that the line he had recited was superior among its competition—but rather than nod, she merely pursed her lips.

"You really think so?" Keiko asked.

"Of course." Kaito did not doubt his opinion in the least and allowed his face to reaffirm as such. "It is unparalleled."

She put her chin on her hand. Her eyes gained that far-away look they so often did when she was thinking. Kaito knew the look well; Keiko's most cogent arguments and theories were born of that look. He rather liked that look, in fact, even if it occasionally stirred in him vexation. Keiko's best ideas were born of that look, but so were her more intense bouts of stubbornness.

Regrettably, her next words only caused him vexation. "Don't you think it's a little… flowery?" she asked, eyes still remote.

Kaito shook his head. "No. It is perfect."

"But what about—"

Kaito thought about interrupting her, but she did the work on his behalf and fell silent before her thought reached its conclusion. Her eyes grew even more distant, as if they gazed into some other plain of sight to which Kaito was not privy. He waited a beat, but when she did not continue, he set the bento box on his lap aside and crossed his arms.

"But what about what?" he prompted.

She came back to herself with a shake of her head. "Nothing." Keiko adjusted her perch on her customary windowsill with a small smile. "So what about that opening line is so great?"

Kaito told her. He explained. He articulated his points rationally and with utmost clarity, as was his custom, but Keiko never outright agreed with his conclusion (he assumed she would do so once she had time to consider his excellent points more thoroughly, at home, where she would doubtless continue to mull them over). She merely nodded along with small vocalizations of attention and asked a question here or there. When lunch ended, she bid Kaito only the most perfunctory of goodbyes.

He didn't mind. Protracted goodbyes were, as they say, vastly overrated.

Although when Kaito saw Keiko entering the library by herself after school with the most dire of expressions on her face, he wondered if he should amend his opinions about goodbyes, after all. Perhaps if he'd told her a more thorough goodbye, he could have learned the reason for her anxious eyes and thin mouth earlier that day. But as it stood, he did not know the reasons informing her expression, and thus was forced to follow her into the library to find them out.

It wasn't stalking if you are already friends, he reasoned as he trailed her through the stacks, and friends should endeavor to aid one another whenever such was possible. Ready to provide aid, he followed Keiko at a distance, sticking to the shadows between the rows of books as she ran her fingers over their spines. She was hunting for something, Kaito deduced. Her lips moved as she read titles and authors in her head, and just as he began to grow weary of her laboriously slow attempt to locate whatever book she sought (really, was she not familiar with the Dewey Decimal System?), she gasped. She snatched a book off the shelves and stared at it, eyes alight, before clutching it to her chest. Her eyes drifted shut as she leaned her forehead against the shelf before her with a long, low sigh.

Kaito whispered (because far be it from him to speak loudly in a library), "You look relieved."

She jerked upright. When saw that it was him, however, she relaxed. "Oh. Hey, Kaito." She tucked her long bangs behind her ear; they bunched up unattractively, annoyingly asymmetrical. "And yeah. I am relieved."

"Why?"

"Because there's this book that I think you'll like, and they have it here." She held it in his direction. "Read it before?"

He came toward her down the row of books, eyes narrow. " _Moby Dick_." His narrow eyes rolled. "Of course I've read _Moby Dick_ , Yukimura. Who do you think I am, pray tell—one of our simpleton classmates with no taste?"

"Speaking of taste." She just grinned. "This novel boasts the best opening line ever written, so far as I'm concerned."

Kaito frowned—but then he recalled the line in question and spoke it thoughtfully aloud. "Call me Ishmael."

"Yeah."

"… that one _is_ good." He hated to admit it, but it was indeed better than the opening line he'd earlier quoted her. "I'd forgotten its positive attributes in my haste of literary discovery."

Her smile grew, turning coy. "Then you're welcome for the reminder," she said, and she traipsed off between the rows of books with a laugh that would have earned her an admonishment from a librarian, had one been in earshot at the time.

Kaito watched her go without moving. Eventually he stared at the book in his hands.

 _Moby Dick_ was a classic. Of course their library had it in stock. There was no reason Keiko should have been relieved to find it.

And yet, she was.

"Strange," Kaito muttered—but Keiko had been strange since the first time they met. It was obvious from their first conversation, or since the time she had been so woefully misinformed regarding the rarity of literature programs at the graduate level… not that he cared, however. No, he was only glad that her particular stripe of oddity was tolerable, especially when considered against the utterly boring normalcy of Kaito's other peers.

Keiko was not boring.

To Kaito, little else was of consequence.

* * *

NOTES

 _(1075 words)_

 _She hesitated to reference Moby Dick as having the best opening line of all time because if the book didn't exist in the YYH world, it would cause problems and make Kaito ask questions. I wrote this to show that he senses she's weird, but he doesn't give a crap about_ why _she's weird (unlike Yusuke). He enjoys her company; that is all that matters._

 _Also, writing his uptight/stuffy/brainy voice is SO. MUCH. FUN. Hope you liked it!_


	13. Chapter 13: Guarded

**Day 13: "Guarded"**

* * *

I'm not sure why it caught my eye. Maybe it was the color, so much like Kurama's deep garnet hair as he walked beside me beneath the street lamps, or maybe it was the shape and luster of the pendant itself, tear-dropped and smooth and glossy. Whatever the case, the necklace in the jewelry store's front window drew my eye like a magnet, and midway through our usual Thursday walk I found myself stopping in front of the display on reflex.

Kurama stopped, too, brow listed in question as he joined me at the window. For a moment I didn't reply, too caught up by the sight of the jewel to speak. It wasn't an exact match for the necklace in my head, but… it was close. Too close not to spark my instant curiosity.

My feet angled toward Kurama. "Say," I said—but then I quieted again.

Kurama shifted where he stood, eyes meeting mine in the window's bright reflection. "What is it, Kei?"

I shoved my hands in my pockets and buried my face in the folds of my scarf. I'd nearly blurted my question like some impulse-guided child, but following that impulse was a horrible idea given the nature of the query itself. Taking a deep breath, I confessed, "I'm trying to be sneakily nosey and sensitive at the same time."

"I see. Tricky combination." He hummed, lips curling in his understated smile. "I'll be impressed if you can pull it off."

"Oh—so it's a challenge, then. What do I get if I win?"

He pretended to look wounded. "Would merely my admiration not suffice?"

I, in turn, pretended to think about it before shrugging in acquiescence. "I suppose that works as a prize. Now, let's see…" I grinned. "Oh, I know. It's time for story time. If you'll just give me a moment to prepare…"

Kurama watched with that same small smile on his face as I got my thoughts in order. It would be tricky to get the information I wanted without being a completely insensitive goon, but I'd try my best to walk that fragile border. Once I felt prepared, I drew myself up began to speak.

"Once upon a time," I said in my best storyteller voice, "there were two thieves. Seeking their fortune, they heard of a treasure in a heavily guarded tower, and…"

I spun the tale in broad strokes, watching Kurama intently with every word. If he gave me even one sign of discomfort, the smallest tidbit of unease, or even a look of vague recognition, I would stop the story immediately and not speak another word. I had no intention of hurting him. Heaven forbid I ever hurt him. The minute I saw him looking upset, I'd back off… but as I spoke, his face remained impassive. Confused, sure, but only because I was telling him a weird story out of nowhere. Even when I got to the part where one thief dropped his precious pendant and turned back to reach for it, Kurama did not react with anything but bemusement. I trailed off just before the part where the thief was killed by a trap, brow furrowing even as Kurama's remained completely unaffected.

"Any of that ring a bell?" I asked, wary of his answer despite his stoically mystified expression (Kurama was many things, a good liar chief among them). "Sorry if it did."

Kurama looked pensive for a moment. "I will admit that in my heyday I plundered many of Demon World's most fortified strongholds in pursuit of treasure, but…" He shrugged. "Your story 'rings no bells' for me, I'm afraid."

Relief that I hadn't dredged up the painful past rose cool and heady in my stomach, but so did a murmur of disappointment. "Interesting," I muttered. "So Kuronue wasn't canon."

Kurama's head tilted to the side. "Who wasn't what, you say?"

"Oh. Um." How best to explain this? "There was… conflicting information about you in my previous life. Some came from sources I didn't trust. That was one such tale." I shrugged. "Glad to confirm it isn't something I need to worry about, if nothing else."

"I see." A beat passed before he added, "Congratulations."

"Hmm?"

"You've won my admiration." He smiled sweetly. "Not that you didn't already have it, of course."

I turned crimson and socked his arm, stalking away from the jewelry store with a curse lobbed over my shoulder. Kurama just laughed—and even though I blushed, inside I was glad I'd confirmed Kuronue wasn't canon in this version of reality.

Kurama's mirth was far preferable to his grief, no matter how many characters were sacrificed to maintain that merry glimmer in his eye.

* * *

NOTES

 _(762 words)_

 _Roundabout way of asking him if Kuronue is real, but she just didn't want to be blunt and risk stepping on an emotional landmine. At least her reluctance to be frank made for a cute moment! There's definitely a bit of Keirama happening here for those who ship it; enjoy! Figured I ought to address the Kuronue situation somewhere, and this story collection seemed like a good place for it. Basically, since Togashi didn't write the YYH movie or create Kuronue, I have a hard time considering him a canon character, and for the purposes of_ LC _he doesn't exist. Sorry to those who like Kuronue, of course! There's just not too much room for him in_ LC _._


	14. Chapter 14: Clock

**Day 14: "Clock"**

* * *

To Kagome, the clock above the classroom blackboard represented many things, metaphor owing mainly to its numerous moving parts.

The incessant ticking of the second hand, for instance, represented a countdown to the end of class. It ticked, and a second went by, and Kagome (whose class was learning fractions, which she already knew both backward and fore) was one moment closer to lunch. She drummed her pencil on her desk in time with that ticking hand until a dirty look from her teacher silenced her. Kagome stuck her tongue out when his back was turned and was pleased to note she'd wiled away an entire five seconds of unchallenging math lesson.

The fourth grade, to someone who had already lived through it, was tedious indeed.

The movement of the minute hand, more sedate than the second hand, represented the countdown to the end of the school day. She kept an eye on that hand as she ate her rice balls and drank a thermos of soup, listening with only half a year to her classmates voice their woes about a suspected pop quiz in English after their break ended. Kagome wasn't scared of a pop quiz. She'd much rather watch the clock and daydream about her favorite Japanese soap opera, which was airing that evening, as well as her _aikido_ lesson after dark. Minato (whom she'd soon persuade to allow himself to be called 'Rabbit,' she was sure) and Eeyore would both be there, and they were much more interesting than any English quiz.

English quizzes, to someone who already speaks English, aren't the most engaging of pastimes.

Another boring, reluctant pastime was the rest of the school day, passed in tandem with the ponderous crawl of the hour hand. This hand inched laboriously around the clock's unfeeling face, movement so slow Kagome almost couldn't see it. "A watched pot never boils," her (previous) aunt would have told her, but Kagome couldn't keep her eyes off of its steady (if not infinitesimal) progress. She wished it would move faster. She had places to go and people to see. She scribbled down the answers to the pop quiz when it made its dreaded appearance, and as soon as the hour and minute hands signaled 4 PM, she bolted from her chair and out the door. She even beat the dismissal bell, a fact her teacher yelled after her as she pelted down the hall.

But teachers aren't intimidating to someone who was once a teacher, too, in another distant life.

Kagome caught the train to Sarayashiki and changed into her _aikido_ garb in a train station bathroom, eyes flickering to the moving hands on her wristwatch every now and again. It would do to be late. She enjoyed _aikido_ , and that night she sparred with Minato and Kagome at Hideki-sensei's instruction. She whooped and hollered and took joy in her speed, grinning even as punches flew, and when the lesson ended, she ate frozen yogurt with her friends and talked late into the evening.

It was the most fun she'd have all week.

It was the most fun she'd have every week for the next five years, probably, but she tried not to dwell on that.

Eventually they had to part. They always did. It never ceased to make her sad, but to cope, she restarted her weekly countdown in her head, and checked her watch for the passing of pointless minutes. When she got home, she watched her soap opera and did her easy, childish homework, and when that was done, she lay in bed with a smile on her face, pillow curled to her chest, knees tucked against her stomach. The clock on her bedside table didn't have hands, but it marked the passage of time the same way the clock in her classroom did. Red numbers burned at her in the night, inching through the seconds, the minutes, the hours while Kagome watched, sleepy but alert as the numbers marched closer to the day's reluctant end.

11:57.

11:58.

11:59…

Midnight.

Day turned to another day, passage of time marching ever onward, carrying her forward toward the inevitable.

Kagome sighed into her pillow.

Kagome shut her eyes.

Kagome—ordinary as she was, for now—tried to sleep, but it was difficult.

One more day had passed.

She still had many more to go.

Not-Quite-Kagome would watch the clock (that ticking symbol of her steady stride toward destiny) again tomorrow. She would watch as second turned to minute, minute to hour, hour to day, day to month, and month to year, eager and observant, just as she'd been watching the clock since being reborn as Higurashi Kagome. She would do this, she reckoned, for the next five years—until that day when she would cease to be ordinary, and would start the adventure the real Kagome was fated for at the bottom of a dry, old well.

Time was all that stood between her and that fateful day.

Time, indifferent as it was, and the ticking of an unfeeling clock.

* * *

NOTES

 _(840 words)_

 _Figured I ought to give the time travelling switcheroo character her time in the spotlight._


	15. Chapter 15: Weak

**Day 15: "Weak"**

* * *

Her tongue poked from the corner of her mouth as she played the claw-game. Her delicate fingers curled around the joystick with surprising force, and her brilliant blue eyes fixed steady on the swing of the claw as it moved through the game's interior in search of a plush toy. She didn't appear to notice when strands from her golden pigtail brushed her porcelain cheek. Her focus was complete, laser-like in its intensity and unmistakable in its strength.

And yet all Minato could focus on were the thin contours of Usagi's frail and tiny wrist.

He stood off to one side as she tried to win a plush toy from the machine. Around her crowded Ami, Rei and Makoto, who cheered Usagi on (Makoto), offered advice on optimal claw placement (Ami) or jeered that Usagi was hopeless at this (Rei, of course). But Usagi ignored them all, even Rei and her snide jibes, as she sought her prize—and when she eventually won a plush toy in the shape of a cat with a crescent moon on its forehead, Usagi crowed her triumph and giggled like the schoolgirl she was.

All of them looked like schoolgirls at first glance.

All of them looked delicate and weak, in need of protection, at first glance.

Minato knew the truth, however, that lay beneath their veneer of playful banter and childish chatter. He had seen them in action many times. He had observed from the shadows as they battled ferocious beasts and scheming aliens, watching as they were almost defeated but escaped the clutches of damnation at the last second—and with the help of each other, inevitably. Inevitably, when the battle became bleak, the girls rose up, leaned upon each other, and snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

It was their bond that saved them, time and again. It was a bond that gave them monstrous power. And that power only grew when these girls stood side by side in battle.

That power only grew the longer these girls stayed close to one another.

That power grew in time with the heartbeat of their friendship.

It was an observation Minato had made at once. He had, after all, been warned by a certain reborn friend of his that the power brimming from the Sailor Scouts came not from the size of their muscles, but rather from their love for one another.

It was a power Minato recognized… but not one he was sure he understood. Not yet, at any rate.

Usagi's eyes cut sideways above the plush toy she clutched to her face. Minato tried to look away in time, but he was too slow; Usagi's eyes met his, and her pink lips curled into an enormous smile. She called his name and dashed over, thrusting out the prize she'd won with a proud puff of her chest.

"Isn't it cute?" she said—or demanded, really. "Minato, doesn't it suit me?"

He eyed the toy over for a moment. It was a cartoon version of Luna, the black cat who dogged Usagi's steps and watched her with calm, careful eyes at school… but this doll possessed none of Luna's quiet strength. He reached out to feel its ears, a small smile cutting across his face. All of the toys in this arcade resembled the weapons and allies of the Sailor Scouts, but none could match the subtleties of the originals.

These girls—they were inimitable.

Usagi leaned toward him abruptly, lower lip jutting in a frown. "Minato, are you all right?" she said. "You're _staring_."

Briefly, he closed his eyes. "Sorry," he said, and he smiled at Usagi with open warmth. "I was just thinking that anyone who underestimates you does so at their peril."

Usagi blinked a few times. "What's _that_ mean?"

"Nothing," he said. He ruffled the toy's ears again. "And yes. The toy suits you."

Usagi's cheeks turned red. Minato laughed—and when Usagi turned away with an embarrassed but pleased stammer, Minato quietly reminded himself that his words applied to him, too.

Underestimate the Sailor Scouts at your peril, he had said.

It was a statement he'd do well to remember as he slowly earned his place among them—and as he slowly learned to pull his strength from sources he had, in his past, considered a source of weakness.

* * *

 **NOTES** :

 _[760 words]_

 _I imagine this takes place before Minato reveals himself as Sailor V(enus) to Usagi and company. He decides to befriend them first as a civilian to learn more about them. He's done some spying on them when they fight and has seen firsthand that strength can come from many sources and that he needs to challenge/change his perception of what makes someone strong. Yay, growth!_


	16. Chapter 16: Angular

**Day 16: "Angular"**

* * *

Kuwabara took a deep breath. Then, in slow and steady increments, he lifted his eyes to the bathroom mirror.

He had narrow eyes. They were brown. Pretty ordinary, really. Nothing too special. They were brown and sometimes you couldn't even tell that they were brown because his eyes were so narrow, not to mention overshadowed by his forehead or whatever. Hooded eyes? That's what Shizuru called them, if he was remembering her rant about proper eyeshadow application correctly. Living with a beautician, you learned a thing or two through osmosis. Or eavesdropping. Whichever.

His cheekbones were really high beneath his eyes. He'd filled out after training, lots of muscle under the fabric of his t-shirt, but there were still hollow pockets above his jaw and below the jut of his cheekbone. He wasn't sure if he like the hollows or not. They were severe, sorta. They made his face look hard and lean, like a wolf who hadn't eaten in a while.

Kuwabara pinched his cheeks. Pulled the skin out as far as it would go. Patted his face a few times and smoothed his fingers down the line of his jaw—a square jaw, thick and wide, with a narrow chin underneath his thin mouth. He pulled and prodded the skin around his eyes, lifting his eyebrows high and letting them go with a sigh.

Outside of the bathroom, Keiko laughed.

She had a nice laugh, even if it wasn't exactly pretty. It was loud and brash and full, and on impulse Kuwabara walked out of the bathroom, through the hotel bedroom and toward the living room. He stuck his head out of the door, scanning the room until he found her. She was standing near the windows, lopsided grin on her pretty face as she loosed another braying cackle with head thrown back, shoulders heaving.

Beside her stood Kurama.

Kurama had bright green eyes. They weren't hooded. They were large and liquid and vivid in his face, color catching the light streaming through the window and refracting it like the prism Kuwabara's teacher once brought to science class. Kurama's face was all soft planes and delicate lines, cheeks smooth and jaw firm but not too big, with a proportionate nose and full lips. Those lips curled as Keiko laughed, Kurama's eyes glittering as her laughter began anew at something he said too low for Kuwabara to hear.

Kuwabara went back into the bathroom and shut the door.

Not for the first time, he tried not to compare himself to Kurama. He always tried not to compare himself to Kurama, who was prettier than most of the girls in school, but it was tough. Where Kurama was all delicacy and prettiness, Kuwabara was hard angles and blocky chiseled-ness. He pinched and prodded at his upturned, sharp nose and the sloping plane of his broad forehead. His hairstyle helped disguise it some, but he'd always thought his forehead was too tall, and maybe, now that he thought about it, his crunchy pompadour might only make it his head look taller…

The image of Kurama's long, soft hair popped into his head. Next to it appeared an image of Keiko, eyes all glittery and stuff as she laughed at what Kurama had said—and Kuwabara hated to admit it, but those two looked good together.

He also knew there were more important things in life than looks.

Kuwabara clapped his hands to his cheeks. Met his own eyes in the mirror. Leaned in close, still clutching his face, lips puckered like a fish's as he glared his own self into submission.

"So you aren't the most handsome guy in town. Big friggin' deal," he said to himself, words distorted as they left his mouth. "You're the number one punk of Sarayashiki Junior High, and that's worth all the pretty hairstyles in the world, you got that?" He clapped his face a few times. "Yeah. You got that."

He straightened up. Made sure his hair looked good, combing errant strands back into place with his fingers. He took a deep breath, gave himself a nod in the mirror, and marched with head held high back into the suite's living room with the others.

As he walked in, Keiko grinned and said his name.

Kuwabara grinned and greeted her right back.

* * *

NOTES:

 _I've always wondered if Kuwabara would have a bit of a complex around the very pretty people in his friend group (particularly Kurama), since he's often referred to as… not great looking or whatever? This might be what said complex looks like, maybe? IDK. I think his features would translate really well in real life, all chiseled and defined, but as a teenager he probably has at least a few private insecurities. Kuwabara isn't the type to let them get him down, though, and will push through with aplomb._

 _I legit have a donkey laugh, BTW. It's not pretty, but it's mine. My old theater director used to make me come to matinees because he knew I'd laugh really loudly and make other people react to the shows. Fun fact about me, I guess._


	17. Chapter 17: Swollen

**Day 17: "Swollen"**

* * *

Keiko yelped when Yusuke slapped the antiseptic-soaked gauze against her cheek. Her tanned skin looked almost sunburned around the cracked flesh, which wept blood as it swelled and the surrounding bruises slowly filled with fluid. She'd been punched pretty squarely in the face by the looks of it; Yusuke had delivered such a wound to enough punks to know it on sight.

Treating that wound, however? Yeah, he wasn't too good at that. Yusuke's fingers were clumsy with the antiseptic he slathered all over Keiko's battered face, drops trickling down his wrist and onto the comforter of Keiko's bed. Keiko was usually the one patching him up, not the other way around… and if Yusuke were being honest, he'd tell you he wished his patch-up sessions with Keiko would stay the normal way.

But (Yusuke being Yusuke) he had no filter, so out his wishes blurted. "You know you don't have to do this, right?" he said as he finished dabbing at her wounds.

Keiko, who had been staring at the Fleetwood Mac poster on her ceiling while trying very hard not to flinch, didn't look at him. "Hmm?" was all she said, noncommittal and small.

" _Aikido_." Yusuke set aside the bloody gauze he'd been using, not caring that he'd likely stain Keiko's bedspread. "You don't have to do it."

Now she finally looked at him, one brow lifted high. "I mean. Sure?" she said. "But _aikido_ has saved my butt more than once. Like the time when those people controlled by that whistle—"

Yusuke snapped, " _I_ can save your butt."

Keiko's brows lifted higher. "That's… nice of you? I think?"

"Oh, shut up. You know what I mean." He jerked a thumb toward his chest. "When bad guys come calling, _I'm_ the one who'll protect this town. So you don't have to keep getting yourself beat up by being stupid, OK?"

He meant what he'd said, even if he felt pretty embarrassed to actually say this stuff aloud. Mushy crap just wasn't his deal, but Keiko had been coming home with more and more bruises lately, and it had started to get pretty damn annoying. Fighting was _his_ shtick, not hers! When Keiko stared at him, nonplussed, he ducked his head and snatched up the gauze, wrappers and iodine swabs off the bed, shoving them into the open first aid kit at his side with no thought given to proper organization. Something in the box crunched when he slammed the lid shut, but he hardly cared—until Keiko put a hand over his and leaned toward him, smiling.

"You're sweet," Keiko said.

Yusuke shoved her away with a scowl. "Oh, can it, Grandma."

But her hand closed around his wrist this time. "Yusuke," she said, staring until she caught his eye. "I know you think you need to protect me, but trust me. I need _aikido_ in my life." She swallowed, hard enough for Yusuke to hear it as her throat moved. With aching slowness Keiko told him, "Because in a lot of important ways, I need to be the one protecting you."

Though her words were laden with obvious intention, and her face had that stupid I-am-telling-you-something-important pinched look to it, what she'd said meant absolutely nothing (zip, zilch, nada, zero) to Yusuke, which of course made him scoff and say, "The hell's that even mean?"

Keiko smiled—bitterly this time. "Nothing," she said. She picked up the first aid kit and stood. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

She walked out the door. And Yusuke would've followed her, demanded to know just what the hell she was talking about, but soon he heard the hiss of the shower running in the bathroom down the hall. He trudged home with hands jammed deep in his pockets, shoes scuffing the concrete with every sullen step.

Yusuke didn't understand what she meant that night.

But eventually, understand he would.

* * *

NOTES

 _Not-Quite-Keiko is a cryptic motherfucker, basically, and Yusuke realizing she's not what she says she is is owed largely to her inability to stop making cryptic-ass statements in his presence. NQK digs her own grave and Yusuke is more perceptive than we give him credit._


	18. Chapter 18: Bottle

**Day 18: "Bottle"**

* * *

Yusuke looked utterly out of place in the middle of the department store, and it was absolutely _hilarious_.

For one thing, I don't think he'd ever been inside a department store before. Whenever a salesperson came over to help us with a cheerful greeting, Yusuke would immediately blurt out that he was not, in fact, shoplifting this afternoon, so they could go ahead and just leave him the hell alone. "Grandma here has a stick up her ass about crap like that," he added with a nod in my direction, and the shopgirls scurried away to whisper about us behind their hands. Yusuke hardly noticed, though. He'd been chased out of so many stores, he had no clue that these people were trying to help his ass, and getting whispered about by shopkeepers was totally normal for him.

Apart from his complete lack of manners, it was also hysterical to watch Yusuke wander between rows of dresses and blouses with a look of disgust on his face. He balked at the prices of certain shoes and sneered at the makeup counter, and when I directed him over to the perfume section, he rolled his eyes and heaved a tired sigh. But I was not to be deterred, so I picked up a bottle and spritzed some perfume onto a sample card.

"OK." I held the card out toward him. "What about this one?"

He sniffed; his nose immediately wrinkled. "Nah. Too much like a grandma." A devious grin stole across his face. "In that case, maybe you should wear it."

"Ha ha, very funny," I said as I reached for a second perfume sample, which I sprayed onto another card and thrust his way. "Here, smell this."

But he was recoiling already. "God, no! That smells like a fart had a baby with a tangerine!"

I pulled the card toward my face and inhaled, certain his was being dramatic. "Yusuke, it can't be that ba—oh, wait, never mind, it _is_ that bad." I tossed the card onto the perfume counter and stuck out my tongue. "Yuck! Why do they even make that shit?"

 _"Told ya_ it was nasty." He slumped against the counter with another longsuffering sigh. "Ugh. This is taking for-ev-errrr," he said, drawing out the word for emphasis. He shot me an accusatory stare. "Can't you pick something good for once, Keiko?"

I tossed a sample card at him, miffed. "Hey, _I'm_ not the one who forgot it was your mother's birthday, and need I remind you that _I'm_ the one who knew she was out of perfume and needed a replacement? But if you don't want my help, I can just lea—"

He moved to block my path before I could even try to walk away from him. "Not a chance," he said, glaring. "I ain't lettin' my mom get on my ass about this, too!"

"Well, then you'd better be nicer to the person who's trying to help you!"

He grumbled something about me being more trouble than I was worth, but I ignored him and snatched another bottle off the counter. A cautious sniff revealed that this bottle contained scents of rose mixed with woodsy smells, all undercut by the barest hint of citrus. It was pleasant enough, so I extended the bottle toward Yusuke; he took it from me with the wariness of a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but still he gave it an experimental sniff.

At once his eyes lit up. "Hey, that's not too bad," he said—and then he stuck out his tongue and shook his head. "Although it _does_ smell like Kurama's butthole, so…"

I tried not to laugh. "I didn't realize you two were that close."

"Hmm?" said Yusuke, frowning.

"I mean, you must be _really close_ to Kurama if you know exactly what his butthole smells li—"

Yusuke's face turned purple, and without a word he sprayed the perfume sample straight into my open mouth. It was horrific; I gagged and spat, and when he started to cackle, I grabbed another bottle and sprayed it all over his face. Thus the game of perfume spraying commenced in earnest, and we chased each other through the clothing racks until security came and gave us a matching set of lifetime bans from the department store.

* * *

NOTES

 _Just a cute scene of their daily lives. Ho hum. I had fun with it, though! Thanks for reading._


	19. Chapter 19: Scorched

**Day 19: "Scorched"**

* * *

The teapot was sweating, on the cusp of screaming its whistling readiness to the world—but I, arguably, was sweating even worse.

Botan walked into the hotel suite's small kitchen before I could sink too deep into my despair. "Keiko?" she said as her feet slapped across the tile floor behind me. "Are you all right?"

"Uh." I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, staring at the countertop. "Yeah, Botan. I'm fine."

"Well, that's good to hear." She arrived at my side and caught my eye with a winning smile. "You were taking so long with the tea that—wait a minute." Brilliant magenta eyes scanned the items on the counter. "What's all this?"

My fingers alit on the bridge of my nose, pinching tight as I lamented, "I don't know how Yukina likes her tea!"

Before me sat an assortment of teacups, one for each person sitting in the living room of the hotel suite. But beside this array sat a tall glass full of ice and a straw, cubes glistening under the kitchen's warm lights. Botan briefly glanced at the cups, following the direction of my frustrated gaze, but she only frowned.

"Why, Yukina takes her tea in just the same way as anyone else, I suspect," she said.

"Does she, though?" I pointed at the teakettle and the steam eking from its spout. "She's an ice apparition and the tea is gonna be _scorching!_ "

For a minute, Botan didn't react. She just stared at me, and then at the kettle, in silence.

As if on cue, the kettle let out a heated shriek, and Botan clapped her hands to her face in a spot-on impression of the kid from _Home Alone_.

"Oh. _Oh._ Good point!" she said, looking equal parts intrigued and horrified. "I hadn't thought of that!" She considered the cups and glasses with more interest, not to mention dawning comprehension.

Because there was a lot to comprehend about this. Yukina, the ice apparition, was a being of cold—would hot tea hurt her? Was she more susceptible to a burned tongue than a human or non-ice-flavored demon? Was offering a Koorime a hot drink an act of aggression in their society? Would she never speak to me again for making such an extreme faux pas? So many options to consider, and my anxiety wasn't helping me one bit.

Botan crossed her arms and glared at the cups, mirroring my stance. "So you were going to make iced tea _and_ hot tea for her? Just in case she can't drink the hot tea?" She shook her head. "Good thinking, I suppose, but now I can see what was taking so long…"

I turned to her with desperation on my face. "OK—but which do I give her?!"

She turned to me with the same written across hers. "I don't know!"

We stared at one another in abject horror for a moment, and we flinched as one when Shizuru's dry voice cut into the kitchen from the living room.

"Hey, you two!" she barked. "Do we make tea by committee now or what?"

Botan blanched and walked on reflex from the kitchen. "Coming, Shizuru!" she called—and she ducked her head back into the room to hiss at me, "Just bring both and let her pick one!"

Compromise. How I loved the sweet, sweet sound of compromise. I nodded and snatched the teakettle off the burner, making drinks while chewing absently on the inside of my cheek. Surely Yukina would like at least one of these options…

To my surprise, she picked the hot tea—but not before she gave me the oddest look and thanked me for going to so much trouble over something that was, to her, so very, very minor.

* * *

NOTES

 _[630 words]_

 _Always wondered if the Koorime had hot drinks or liked hot food, and my anxiety + overthinking wouldn't do me any favors. I have theories about Yukina's preferences that'll be explored in more depth in a very soon-to-be-posted chapter of LC. Thanks so much for reading!_


	20. Chapter 20: Breakable

**Day 20: "Breakable"**

* * *

First there was a blur of blue windbreaker and bright orange hair, and then there came a horrific thump and an accompanying rush of wind. I covered my face as pine needles rained down in a spiky deluge, and when I heard something thud against the damp earth beside me, I uncovered my face with a gasp.

Kuwabara lay in a heap at my side at the foot of a wide tree. The wood above him had cracked and splintered on impact, sap trickling from the wound in a golden sludge. Kuwabara didn't move or speak as I scrambled up and knelt at his side, but before I could even ask if he was OK, he sat up. He clutched his head and glared at the training ground where he'd been only a moment before, staggering to his feet with a grunt and a loud curse.

"Hiei, you little punk!" he roared. "That was a dirty trick and you know it!"

There came another blur, this one black and in the middle of the training clearing, that soon coalesced into the solid shape of Hiei in his dark cloak. He carried a length of green bamboo in place of his usual sword, but the end of it had broken off… broken from when he'd used it to smack Kuwabara and send him flying into the tree, no doubt.

Hiei raised his bamboo and pointed it in the direction of Kuwabara's livid face. "I hit you from the front, oaf," he said with a flash of scarlet iris. "If you consider that a trick, perhaps you should rethink attending the Dark Tournament with us. I promise you that other demons won't fight so honorably."

Kuwabara bared his teeth and rumbled, "Why you little—!"

Not a man of many words, Kuwabara didn't finish his curse; he simply ran straight at Hiei with a righteous bellow, which turned into a screech of indignation as Hiei blurred out of sight, reappeared behind Kuwabara, and sent Kuwabara once more flying into a tree. I gasped and clapped a hand over my mouth, but Kuwabara only popped back up and charged at Hiei once more.

Kurama materialized at my elbow; I flinched, but all he murmured in my ear was, "He'll be fine, Kei. I promise."

I cleared my throat and curled my hair behind my ears, embarrassed… but as Kuwabara flew into yet another tree (seriously, what did Hiei have against forests?!) I couldn't help but stare. "Do you really think he's human?" I murmured as Kuwabara took off again, leaving behind more pulverized wood in his wake.

"Of course he is." Kurama's head tilted to one side. "What brought this on?"

I traced the path of Kuwabara sailing through the air toward another tree. "He's just so…" (he hit the tree; I winced) "…sturdy."

He was just so sturdy, and I was just so… not. Time and again Kuwabara crash-landed into various pieces of the training ground's landscape, and time and again he got back on his feet no worse for wear. He'd end the day with bruises and cuts, sure, but it never kept him down or discouraged him. A good night's sleep and he'd been good to go. Had that been me getting pummeled out there, I'd have to spend a month or three in the hospital for my bones to knit back together.

As Kuwabara summoned his Spirit Sword and ran at Hiei yet again, weapon glowing like an iridescent lightsaber, my hands clenched.

"Gotta get powers if I want to keep up," I muttered.

Kurama, beside me, frowned. "I'm sorry, Kei; I didn't quite catch that."

"Oh… nothing," I said.

But my mind had way more on it than "nothing." It was focused on my next opportunity to get the powers I so craved—and that opportunity lay in the hands of none other than the Beautiful Suzuka, who I'd be able to meet so soon I could taste it.

Even though Kuwabara was training to survive it, and even though the thought of the Dark Tournament filled most of our ragtag group of friends with dread… there was a part of me that felt like the Tournament, and the opportunities it promised, couldn't get here fast enough.

* * *

NOTE: _I had a reviewer once ask, at a certain point in LC, why NQK had apparently stopped trying to find a way to get powers. The answer was that she hadn't stopped; she was biding her time till her next opportunity. There's always a lot going on in her life, which means I can't talk about all of her goals in every chapter, so sometimes it looks like she's forgotten something or doesn't care about something anymore. This little snippet was inspired by that comment/question and shows NQK thinking about her next opportunity._


	21. Chapter 21: Drained

**Day 21: "Drain"**

* * *

Keiko took one look at him and said, "Well, you look beat."

Kuwabara hefted his schoolbag higher up his shoulder. "Uh. Yeah," he said, grinning at her. "I probably do!"

Keiko frowned. Kuwabara kept grinning. He kept grinning because even though his eyes were as heavy as sandbags and his throat ached with the yawn building inside of it, he was happy. He was so happy he could _bust_. People on the sidewalk that morning were even staring at him, he grinned so hard, but Keiko didn't pay them any mind. She never seemed to notice when people stared. Keiko was confident and she didn't give two craps about what anyone thought, and that's why Kuwabara had stayed up all night. He'd done it for her, and he'd do it again, screw the fact that he'd probably fall asleep in class today.

She didn't quite understand any of that, though. Keiko stared at him with a frown, weight shifting to one foot as she studied his face. "Wait. But you're smiling." Her head tilted further, hair nearly sweeping the shoulder of her bright red Meiou uniform. "Weird combination, but let me guess. Smiling by tired, smiling but tired…" Her eyes lit up. "Bad sleep, good breakfast?"

He shrugged, still grinning. "Something like that."

Nothing like that at all, actually, but he didn't want to give away the surprise… although the fact that he couldn't stop smiling was kind of giving the game away. He fought to keep walking, to wipe the smile off his face and keep walking Keiko to school like he always did—but it was hard. That smile had been on his face since 4 AM, stuck there like gum under a table ever since he'd called the radio station at just the right moment and won that pair of Megallica concert tickets. He'd stayed up every night for a week for that chance, and somehow the universe had aligned and he'd won the tickets fair and square.

Call him a sap if you want, but to Kuwabara, the whole thing felt a little bit like destiny.

Not that he'd tell her that just yet. Keiko fell into step beside him, staring intently at his twitching lips, and that only made him smile harder.

After a minute she spoke. "You're not gonna tell me the reason you're tired-but-smiling, are you," she said, and she didn't bother phrasing it like a question.

He answered her anyway with a chipper, "Nope!"

Keiko huffed. "Rude."

"Yeah," he said, still cheerful. "I'm sort of the worst."

"You're not supposed to agree!" She socked him in the arm, but playfully, and he could tell she wasn't really mad. "You're supposed to be shamed into telling me the truth!"

"Oops, would ya look at the time!" He glanced at the watch he wasn't wearing and broke into a jog. "Gotta run!"

Keiko shouted something after him, but he just waved over his shoulder and turned a corner as fast as he could. He'd have to avoid her for a day or two, until his enormous smile faded and he could look at her like normal again. He'd tell her the truth about why he looked so drained eventually—but he had to wait for just the right moment to give her those tickets and explain the entire truth.

It was tough, though, when he felt this goshdarn excited to see the look on her face when he finally did.

* * *

NOTES _: This'll provide context to chapters 93 & 94 of LC. Thanks for reading!_


	22. Chapter 22: Expensive

**Day 22: "Expensive"**

* * *

Yusuke sat on the end of my bed with a huff. "Hey."

I put down my book with care. "Hey, yourself."

We looked at one another for a long time. From downstairs came the rattle of ladles against bowls, voices shouting orders and feet slapping the ceramic floor. Amid the noisy silence Yusuke and I traded a long, blank look, before he finally heaved a sigh and tossed a small object wrapped in newspaper at my outstretched feet. Haphazard strips of clear tape held the newspaper in place, glossy stripes shiny against the matte paper.

I reached for it. "So you remembered."

"And chance a repeat of what happened when I forgot my _mom's_ birthday? Hell, no." Yusuke rolled his eyes as I turned the small rectangular package over in my hands. "You gonna open that or what?"

I weighed it on my palms. "Nice weight to it despite its size." I shook it; from within came a metallic tinkle. My brow lifted. "Jewelry, Yusuke? I'm shocked. You normally get me convenience store ice cream."

He leaned forward and, with the stare of a dead fish on his face, repeated: " _And chance a repeat of what happened when I forgot my mom's birthday?_ "

I giggled. "Point taken."

I slid my thumb under a bit of tape and tore the paper open. Inside lay a velvet-covered box about the length of my palm, which I opened with the creak of minute hinge. Upon a tiny satin pillow sat a silver charm bracelet affixed in place with a tiny hook; the charms were all of foods, sushi and ice cream and bowls of ramen and deftly wrought fruits, and when I lifted the bracelet away from its spot, the weight of it was not insignificant. I stared at it with eyes wide as I held it toward the light, jaw dropping in shock at the exquisite piece.

"Yusuke. Oh my _god_ ," I breathed. "It's gorgeous."

He grinned, eyes glittering oddly. "You like it?"

"Like it?" I repeated with a laugh. "I don't _like_ it, I lov—oh _fuck_ , Yusuke, you stole this didn't you? _J'accuse!_ "

Far from cowed and not at all perturbed by my glare, Yusuke glanced at his watch with a devilish smirk. "Wow. It only took you 8 seconds to figure it out this time. I'm impressed. Last time it was 15."

"The fact that it was _very expensive_ jewelry and the fact that you only get me expensive shit when you can steal it was a giveaway," I grumbled as I slipped the bracelet onto my wrist. I held it up to admire it with a little sigh. "So pretty."

"Wait." His eyebrow cocked, wary and skeptical at once. "You're not gonna make me return it like you have every other birthday present I've stolen for you?"

I clutched my wrist to my chest defensively. "It's _really_ pretty this time, OK?!"

"Heh." His smirk turned into a full-on grin. "Happy birthday, Grandma."

I rolled my eyes. Something told me Yusuke had expected me to give in and tolerate his sticky fingers, because Yusuke knew damn well that I was susceptible to bribery—especially when it came in the form of very shiny objects.

* * *

NOTES: _There was a callback to prompt #18 (bottle) in this one. These are becoming more referential as the series goes on._


	23. Chapter 23: Muddy

**Day 23: "Muddy"**

* * *

Hiei alit on her rooftop with a splatter of displaced rain. It was easy enough to spot Meigo through her drop-slicked window. He hadn't even need the Jagan to find her. The light from within her home stood in sharp contrast to the night pressing at its walls, but Meigo remained oblivious to the gloom. Through the window Hiei saw her sitting on her bed, leafing through a book held open across her lap. Headphones cupped her ears, head bobbing in time to the insipid human music she no doubt listened to. It never failed to disgust him, how unaware most humans were. Meigo should sit where no one could see her and mask her presence with darkness—not avail herself to attack in light and in such a vulnerable position.

Rain pattered onto his hair and trickled down the back of his neck, trailing beneath his scarf. With a wave of his hand the lock on the other side of the window's misty pane slid open. He heaved up the sash with another burst of willpower and levered a leg over the sill, one muddy boot poised atop the papers on Keiko's desk.

"Shoes off, please," Keiko murmured.

She didn't even look up. Her headphones had not moved, but now beneath the sound of the rain and thunder, Hiei discerned that no music played in Meigo's ears. He scowled, rankled at his own oversight—especially when Meigo didn't turn her head, eyes still fixed on her book, but her still lips curled into a smile as he stared. She knew he was there, and she was laughing at him, and Hiei would be damned if she ordered him around without proper retribution. He lifted his boot again, ready and eager to stomp on her homework.

"Shoes off," Keiko said, smiling, "or no second helpings of dinner later."

Hiei scowled harder.

He weighed the deliciousness of leaving a muddy boot print on her desk with the taste of a steaming bowl of ramen.

He smirked, and he stomped his boot onto her desk.

Meigo turned her head with the flash of a glare, but Hiei had already beat his retreat back out into the storming autumn dark. He had had his revenge… and it tasted almost as satisfying as ramen, indeed.

* * *

NOTES: _Hiei, you belligerent stray cat, WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS._


	24. Chapter 24: Chop

**Day 24: "Chop"**

* * *

I leaned my chin on the bar overlooking the kitchen. Behind me the chairs all sat overturned atop the restaurant's many tables, skeletal but comical in their topsy-turvy posture. We'd turn them all over and set the place to rights when the shop opened for the day, but for now, it was just us three in my parents' restaurant.

In the kitchen stood Yusuke and my father. Yusuke teetered atop a produce crate; Dad stood behind him, arms snaking around Yusuke's head so he could mold Yusuke's hands around a carrot and a big chef's knife. Occasionally I caught a glimpse of my round, seven-year-old face in the large razor, its reflective steel polished to a loving shimmer.

"Now, you put your fingers here, where the blade meets the handle." Dad arranged Yusuke's fingers around the knife, index and thumb gripping the flat of the blade itself. Yusuke's small fingers had some trouble, but Dad only gave Yusuke a smile when he looked up for encouragement. "There. Perfect. That's the ticket. And you curl your fingers over the carrot so they don't get in the way."

He shaped Yusuke's hands as instructed, helping him lift and lower the knife over and over again, blade passing through the carrot with snaps of vegetable resistance. Soon Yusuke flinched, whining as the knife came near his hand.

"But what if it hurts?" he mumbled when my father paused his lesson.

"Hurts you?" Dad said with a laugh. "No, son. If you hold it like this, your knife'll cut true and clean and never slip. Here. See?" He repositioned Yusuke's hands and took control, puppeteering the boy into a rapidly perfect julienne. "Chop, chop, chop!"

"Chop, chop, chop." Yusuke didn't sound convinced, but as their pile of shredded vegetable grew taller, light came into his eyes like fireworks. He crowed and bellowed, "Chop, chop, chop! I'm doing it!"

"That you are!" said my father, and he put aside the knife to ruffle Yusuke's hair. "Good work!"

Yusuke giggled. I smiled from my spot at the overlooking bar, and not for the first time, I felt grateful to have the family—both by blood and by adoption—that I possessed in this, my lucky second life.

* * *

NOTES _: Just a cute little moment of Yusuke bonding with his adopted fam/dad._


	25. Chapter 25: Prickly

**Day 25: "Prickly"**

* * *

Meiou High School's greenhouse glowed like a translucent jewel in the thin afternoon light, its panes lit from within by refractions of the setting sun. Around it the snow had melted into the ground, revealing a ring of dead grass not visible elsewhere on the white-covered lawn. Few people came out here during the winter, I'd learned, but Kurama visited the greenhouse daily to care for its vegetable inhabitants. I followed his tracks through the snow, jumping from one carved footstep to the next with crunch after crunch of compressed ice. He had a much longer stride than I did; it was like playing leapfrog, keeping up with the tracks he'd left, but soon enough I made it to the greenhouse and pushed past the heavy glass door.

Inside was hot and humid, in sharp juxtaposition to the bitter, dry cold outside. I began to sweat the second the heat hit my face, and when I turned to shut the door behind me, more heat crept beneath my scarf to lap at the perspiring skin on my neck. I shivered at the transition, and as I began to strip out of my heavy coat and gloves, Kurama appeared from behind a towering trellis of blooming honeysuckle.

"Kei," he said when he saw me—and then he saw what I carried in my hands. Kurama eyed the box, wrapped in its bright blue paper and gold ribbon, with polite suspicion. "And what, pray tell, is that?"

At the sight of my beaming smile, his suspicion only intensified. "Why, it's your birthday present, of course!" I said, and I set the box on the nearest planting table with a flourish.

Kurama, who had been carrying a watering can, set the object at his feet. His eyes narrowed, brow furrowing—but as he looked at the gift I'd brought him, his expression cleared.

"My birthday—yes." He nodded once, then twice. "Yes, of course."

My hands planted themselves on my hips. "Wait a tick. Did you forget your own _birthday?_ "

His mouth quirked. "In my defense, I haven't had this birthday for very long."

"Only for 16 years," I teased. As Kurama rolled his eyes, I pointed sharply at the box and demanded, "But that's not the point! Open your present! I had to go to a lot of trouble to track that thing down at this time of year, and it's rotting away under that box!"

One brow lifted. "Rotting away?" He stepped toward the workbench, eyeing the package over like a butcher sizing up a piece of prime meat. "I admit, you have me intrigued."

It was interesting, watching Kurama unwrap a present. He was methodical about it, removing pieces of tape and un-creasing the wrapping paper with far more care than was warranted—like he intended to reuse the paper or something and couldn't bear to see it marred unnecessarily. I shifted from foot to foot as he worked, fidgeting with my hands and the scarf I'd balled up in them, and soon the paper gave way to reveal a small cardboard box. Movements precise and slow, Kurama peeled back the box's top and peered inside.

For a second, he didn't move.

Then he said, matter-of-fact: "It's a cactus."

"A prickly pear cactus, specifically." I watched with a smile on my face as he reached into the box and removed a small pot, from which sprouted a tiny prickly pear bearing six paddles covered with long, thin spikes. Suddenly feeling a little out of breath, I rasped, "Do you like it?"

He held up the pot, turning it this way and that as he examined its contents. "It's lovely," he eventually said. "But what inspired this, may I ask?"

"Well, you love plants, right?" And that suddenly sounded really stupid, really surface-level-character-analysis or whatever, and then I was second-guessing myself and wondering if he got plants for all of his birthdays and if my gift was totally boring and predictable. In a hurry to not seem like a total dumbass, I added, "And I don't see any cacti in this greenhouse, so I thought I'd…"

I trailed off, uncertain. Kurama turned the pot a few more times before looking my way. When our eyes met, he smiled, setting the pot gently next to its wrappings.

"It will fill out this greenhouse's roster nicely," he confirmed, smile genuine and clear. "Thank you, Kei."

And just like that, I perked up again. "And that's not all it does!" I said with a wide grin.

Kurama's head tilted to the side. "Oh?"

"It can also be used as a weapon!" I waggled my eyebrows as he stared at me, mystified. " _You_ know. A little demon energy here, a little demon energy there, and… stabby-stabby, eh? _Eh?"_ I mimed poking someone with a sword, still grinning. "Multipurpose gifts are fun!"

He eyed me over, lips pursed. "You are far too enamored with the idea of 'stabby-stabby' for comfort, Kei."

"Oh, don't ruin my fun." I crossed my arms and thrust my nose into the air. "We can't all have awesome demon plant powers, and I need to live vicariously through you."

His pursed lips twitched a little. "I see," he said. "I'll take care to remember that." Kurama picked up the cactus and tucked it under his arm. "I'll place this near the best heat-lamp."

In silence I followed him to the back of the greenhouse. A few desert plants, although no cacti, sat on a little set of risers in a secluded corner, their ranks flanked by a dehumidifier and a scorching UV lamp. He set the cactus on the highest riser and turned it so the plant's paddles could get maximum light. I smiled as he arranged the various plants around the cactus, leaning my shoulder against one of the greenhouse's glass walls.

"Those grew wild where I grew up, you know," I said with a nod at the prickly pear.

Kurama paused. He turned my way with a curious knit of his brow, hands falling still at his sides. His long hair had been pulled back with a tie, rich strands dark against the fabric of his uniform. I barely noticed, though. I was staring at the cactus, which had been living on my desk at home for the previous week as Kurama's birthday inched ever closer. A little potted reminder of home, taunting me every night as I lay sleepless in my bed, staring at it in frustration.

"My grandmother made jam out of cactus fruits each summer, once the fruit purpled." I shifted as the outside cold soaked through the glass, through my uniform and into my shoulder. "It's nostalgic for me." I winced. "And I've had those spines stuck in my legs enough times to know it'd make for a great self-defense last resort. I figured you'd make better use out of it than I would." Offering him a chipper smile, I concluded, "So happy birthday, Kurama. May the prickly pear serve you well."

He smiled, too. "Thank you, Kei. I promise I'll take good care of it"

"And use it as a weapon should the occasion call?"

Kurama lifted a finger and traced it down the length of one of the cactus's many spines. "I admit, this specimen does provide certain… inspirations," he said, smirk tugging at his mouth.

I gave a delighted cackle, hands curling into claws as I roared out my glee. "Now _that's_ a happy birthday if I ever heard one!" I crowed—and in my chest bubbled the hope that Kurama would one day use that cactus to slay his enemies, just as I wanted him to.

But Kurama, expression wary, cleared his throat. "Can I have another gift?"

"Of course!"

He pinned me with a Look sharper than any cactus spine. "Never," he said, "laugh like _that_ again."

His request only made me giggle, though. "I make no promises," I said, skipping past him back the way we'd come. "See you in class, Kurama."

He murmured an agreement, and when I turned to wish him another happy birthday, I swear I saw him break off a cactus point and slip it discreetly into his pocket.

* * *

NOTES: _IDK why so many of these prompts inspired birthday-related shorts in me, but that's what they've done and I'm enjoying it. Kurama's birthday is in December, hence the snow mentioned in the first paragraph._

 _There will be a follow-up to this one shot in prompt #28, for the record. Thanks for reading!_


	26. Chapter 26: Stretch

**Day 26: "Stretch"**

* * *

Yusuke lounged on my bed with my headphones over his ears, rocking out to the latest Megallica album while playing some ferocious air guitar. It should be noted that he was listening to my records because he was too cheap to buy a record deck of his own. The record on the player was also mine, and he had encouraged its purchase with gusto. Anything I owned, he owned, but ours wasn't a totally one-sided relationship. I inherited his too-small shirt and he mooched off my record collection with impunity. This was how we balanced things.

And speaking of balance: While Yusuke the Moocher pretended to shred a sick-ass guitar solo to the roar of an imaginary crowd, I stood in tree pose on a rubber yoga mat in front of my desk. I tried my damndest not to pay him any mind as I regulated my breathing and paid close attention to the twitch of my muscles, my relationship with balance carefully cultivated by the relationship I had with my muscles. The more intently I listened to them, felt each little tensing and relaxation of the muscles in my feet and legs and back, the better I'd be able to hold my pose.

It was with this same care that I transitioned out of tree pose and into a lunge, hands stretched high over my head. I held this pose for a long time, breathing slowly and with intentional depth, and from there I bent backward and fell (in an extremely controlled way, of course) into an arching backbend. My hands pressed flat to the rubber mat; my feet did the same, limbs stretched taut as I once more held the pose. Breathing was harder when I was upside down, so I closed my eyes and tried not to listen to the mattress creak under Yusuke's weight, nor the distant and tinny sound of a Megallica song pumping through the headphones he wore. I breathed with my belly and diaphragm; a signer's breath, and the breath of athletes. My stomach expanded toward the ceiling on an inhale as my diaphragm dropped, making room for breath, and then it pulled back in toward my arched spine as I exhaled, air pushed from my lungs by my diaphragm again. Again and again I breathed, eyes closed so I could concentrate, attuned to every creak of muscle fiber and every ounce of indrawn air.

Something moved over my stomach.

It was light. A subtle weight, sitting atop my stomach. Maybe the waistband of my spandex pants rolling? I ignored it, inhaling again, but then the sensation on my stomach vanished. Something hit the mat beneath me with a hollow 'pop!' My eyes flew open; my neck ached when I craned my head to look at the mat, confused.

Upon the mat sat a tape dispenser.

The tape dispenser that had formerly sat upon my desk.

Yusuke let out a chortle. When I looked up I found him staring at me from over the side of the bed, headphones worn around his neck, and even looking at him upside-down I could tell he wore a mischievous grin on his face. He had a pencil and a stapler and a few other odds and ends beside him, all I recognized from my desk.

"… were you just putting crap on my stomach?" I asked.

"You're working on your balance." Yusuke held out the stapler. "So am I."

Yusuke, with the care of a person building a castle from a desk of cards, reached out and set the stapler on my stomach. He stacked an eraser on top of it, and then he stacked a pencil case, but before he could add a keyring to the pile, I took a deep breath and dislodged his handiwork. It fell off my stomach to patter on the rubber mat, and with a groan I let my backbend collapse. I fell onto the pile of fallen office supplies in a heap that dig painfully into the curvature of my spine.

"I'm never doing yoga in front of you again," I said.

But Yusuke only laughed. "Not the first time you've said that. Somehow doubt it'll be the last."

* * *

NOTES: _I love these two bonding. Yusuke's such a little shit and I love him very much. Also this was 1000% inspired by those videos of cats climbing on their owners as they do yoga._


	27. Chapter 27: Thunder

**Day 27: "Thunder"**

* * *

Kagome rolled onto her stomach, propped her chin on her hands and asked, "So tell me, Eeyore. If you could have a power, what would it be, anyway?"

Above us twinkled the many thousand lights, those pinpricks of whirling stars, that decorated the ceiling of Minato's hidden base beneath the King Crown Game Center in Tokyo. The three of us lay on our backs to study it, at the suggestion of Kagome after she learned that Minato hadn't spent much time doing so on his own himself. "He takes this awesome ceiling for granted!" she'd said, and she'd tugged us down onto the tile floor and made us pick out constellations. The conversation had moved in time with the stars' pattern on the ceiling, meandering and slow but steady in its progress.

And now _this_ question, of all things.

I turned my head to look at her, though I didn't pick my head up off the hands I'd folded behind it for a pillow. "Like, my _ideal_ superpower?" I asked. "Or are you asking what I think my power would be if one manifested for me?"

She scowled. "You're seriously gonna overthink this, too?"

Minato (who lay on his back beside me with hands folded atop his belly, legs stretching straight and neat before him with shined loafers pressed tight together), hummed. "Maybe she already has a power," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "And maybe overthinking is it."

"Ha! Good one, Minato!" Kagome said, and he accepted her offer of a high five with a smile.

I was less enthused. "Very funny, you two," I said, rolling my eyes. "But in all seriousness, I'm thinking lightning." I grinned. "Lightning and thunder."

Minato's head turned in my direction. "Interesting choice."

"Why that, though?" said Kagome. "Not that it's not cool and stuff, but…"

I shrugged, trying to appear casual… but in reality I'd given this way more thought than was expressly healthy. I'd spent _hours_ dreaming up powers I could have, if given the chance to develop them. It was nice to be asked to explain something I'd spent so much time daydreaming about.

"I was thinking about what might complement the rest of the YYH gang's abilities," I said. "They don't have an aerial-based ability on the team, unless you count Botan and her oar. Lightning is airborne and it can strike from a distance, which is helpful in a fight." I grinned, imagining what throwing a shocking punch might be like, or zapping a pool of water to his enemies unexpectedly. "Plus it has a wide range of applications. And thunder can stun people with loud sound or cause a distraction in a pinch." It was tough not to cackle at the image of Keiko wreathed in clouds and bolts of electricity. "Maybe I'll end up like Storm and learn how to fly, too."

Minato frowned, blue eyes veiled. "You're speaking in a tense that makes it sound like you think you'll develop these abilities, someday," he said—and in his tone lay a stern gentleness, a soft reminder of my reality, that put a heavy and cold pocket of ice in the space beneath my lungs.

"Sorry. My daydreams run away with themselves sometimes." I turned my face to the artificial stars and stared at them, straight ahead and without flinching—and when Kagome changed the subject, to myself I murmured, "Though as far as I can see it, it doesn't hurt to dream."

* * *

NOTES: _Just something I think Keiko and the Not-Quites might talk about in their spare time. This trio is fun. There will be a small follow up to this chapter in prompt #30 (jolt)._


	28. Chapter 28: Gift

**Day 28: "Gift"**

* * *

My mother called my name from the first floor landing and asked me to guess who to whom the footsteps padding up the stairs belonged. I swung my legs over the side of my bed, a host of names upon my lips, but before I could make any predictions, my bedroom door swung open to reveal Kurama. He wore a smile on his face, and under his arm he carried a long rectangular box wrapped in gold paper. I eyed the package with a grin, as if I didn't already know exactly what it was.

"Kurama," I said, and then I feigned surprise and pointed at the box. "Oh? What's this?"

He didn't buy my act even more a moment, although he pretended to do so as he held it aloft. "It's your birthday gift, of course," he said as his eyes glittered, teasing. "Why, Kei. You didn't forget your own birthday, did you?"

"No. I'm just surprised that you remembered it."

"I was lucky I saw you write it down once. As I recall, you didn't celebrate it last year."

"Eh." I shrugged. "It doesn't feel like mine, y'know?"

"I do." He held the gift toward me. "But I hope you'll nonetheless accept this?"

"Well." With a bounce in my step, I hopped off the bed and headed toward him. "Who'm I to refuse a gift?"

Kurama watched in amused silence as I carried the box back to my bed and set about tearing the wrapping paper to shreds with all the manic glee of an overhyped Pomeranian in possession of a new chewtoy. When he laughed, my cheeks flushed, and I measured my unwrapping to a non-embarrassing pace; I am in possession of some dignity, after all.

I promptly lost all shreds of dignity upon seeing the contents of Kurama's gift. Inside the long white box lay a gleaming chef's knife, black handle glossy and curved below a long blade of textured metal, whorls of patterning marking the many folds of steel that comprised the knife. It was the length of my forearm; the metal of the blade glittered like water. Many times I'd seen my father stare with longing and appreciation at this kind of knife in a store window, and I knew straight away that this knife's price tag would have too many zeros on it for comfort.

"Oh my _god_." My voice cracked as I lifted it from its tissue paper. "This must've cost a fortune!"

But Kurama merely shrugged. "Only a portion of my saved allowance, I assure you."

"You must get a great allowance," I muttered, with sarcasm because he was very clearly lying (the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his eyes gave it away). I held the knife up to the light, marveling at its heavy weight so perfectly balance with the between handle and blade. "Seriously, though, Kurama, it's too much. It's _beautiful_."

"Beautiful, and also multipurpose." He leaned toward me, smile finally breaking across his lips. "I have it on good authority that multipurpose gifts are fun."

I grinned back. "You don't say. Sorry, though. How's this a multi-purpose gadget?" I put a hand to my cheek and pretended to feel shocked. "You don't mean I can chop carrots _and_ eggplants with it, do you? Because I thought you had to use _different_ _knives_ for _every vegetable!_ "

"Vegetables, no. But your enemies?" I could've sworn he winked, but maybe I imagined it. "As a recall, you're fond of the idea of—what did you call it? Ah, yes." He made air-quotes with his fingers. "'Stabby stabby?'"

I dropped the knife back into the box, but only so I could cover my bright red face with my hands. "Oh my god, Kurama!"

"You were far too enamored with that idea on my birthday for me to pass up this opportunity," he said as if it were most obvious indeed.

"You don't say." I leaned my chin on my hand, knife jutting from my fingertips. Speaking of which, how's that cactus I gave you doing? If it died and you need a replacement weapon, I can always lend you my new knife."

"I appreciate the gesture, and I'll keep that in mind." Now his smile was warm, a low chuckle spilling from his chest before he said, "Happy birthday, Kei."

"Thanks, Kurama." I toasted him with my knife as if it were a glass of punch. "Here's to our not-birthdays. May they abound with multi-purpose gifts and inside jokes with friends."

He lifted an imaginary glass, too. "And with an avoidance of any stabby-stabby."

I glowered. "May I have another birthday gift?"

Kurama's head listed to the side, a lock of hair falling against his demure cheek. "Perhaps," he intoned in a voice most cryptic. "How may I be of service?"

"It's just—" I coughed into my fist. "Please never use that phrase again."

Never had the fox inside him been more obvious than it was when he grinned, teeth gleaming almost as much as his vivid eyes. "I make no promises," Kurama said, and when I buried my face in my pillow with a groan, I swear I heard the swishing of a mischievously satisfied set of tails.

* * *

NOTES: _As promised, the companion to prompt #25. Their banter makes me laugh. These two really do have similarities and it's fun to play on the idea that they'd each forget their new birthdays, yet still celebrate together._


	29. Chapter 29: Double

**Day 29: "Double"**

* * *

 _NOTE_ _: It's time for some "double trouble" as we get a bit meta with the prompts! Instead of writing a new short story for "double," I'm going back and revisiting a few different prompts and writing a second response for them—AKA a DOUBLE response for some of the prompts. Get it? Eh? Ehhhhh? LOL anyway here goes…_

* * *

 _Double + Chop (Day 24)_

* * *

As Eimi moved toward the garbage can, I pointed at the magazine in her hand and asked, "Think I could take a look at that?"

She just laughed and told me I could have the fashion magazine if I wanted it; she was finished, and did I mind that she'd circled answers in some of the quizzes near the back? I didn't mind, and I told her so, and I went home from our girl-date in the shopping district with the magazine held tightly under my arm.

At home I lounged on my bed and flipped through the magazine page by glossy page, curling the end of one of my pigtails around a fingertip as I made a slow perusal. The eyes of the many beautiful models on the pages seemed to follow me as I folded down the page corners when something caught my eye; I ignored them and kept looking. When I reached the end of the magazine, I went through and tore out all the pages that I'd marked, and then I set about cutting them to pieces with a pair of scissors. Excess bits of bright paper fell away, leaving a handful of models in short haircuts behind to gaze approvingly at me from their sleek scraps.

Task finished, I reached beneath my bed and dragged out one of the many journals I kept hidden there. I flipped to the back page and slowly taped my purloined photos amid the two-dozen other photos in that journal, a lustrous collage of smiling faces and perfect makeup that made me feel suddenly self-conscious about the state of my bare face.

I twirled my long, silky pigtail a little harder around my finger.

In spite of myself, I smiled.

All of the models in my journal, every last one pulled from a fashion magazine, had short hair. Bobs and pixies, shags and pageboys, asymmetric cuts and curled crops—they each sported a different style, coifed to perfection and utterly enviable.

I'd always thought about shearing off my locks in my past life. But I'd never had the courage to let go of my long hair.

Keiko, though?

She was destined to have her hair burned away by fire and undergo an unwilling chop—and when that day came, I'd embrace one of these new cuts with a smile on my face and a booklet of potential new styles in hand.

Sometimes choices are just easier when fate finally makes them for you, I guess.

* * *

 _Double + Thunder (Day 27)_

* * *

Sorei sat on the foot of my bed, legs curled beneath him like a sphinx. Long tail lashed from side to side, side to side as his yellow eyes regarded the rain-smattered window above my desk. The night lurked dark beyond the pane. The raindrops on the glass were only made visible thanks to the lamp atop my desk. Its thin golden light reflected roundly in each bead of water, pimpling its surface with drops that looked like precious ichor.

Thunder rumbled, and Sorei's tail lashed faster—and slowly the hair on it puffed to its full height.  
It wasn't often Sorei allowed himself to be held, but that night as the thunder roared and crashed, he let me pull him onto my lap. He kneaded my knees with his paws and watched the window as I stroked his ears. The static in his tail dissipated. A low purr built in his chest, and together we fell asleep to the sound of the driving rain.

In the morning, he crawled out of my window and onto the wet shingles of the roof. Steps certain even on the slick tiles, he walked away without looking back... but the next time the rain fell in great billowing sheets, he crawled back in through my window once more.

* * *

 _Double + Gift (Day 28)_

 _(Note: Yusuke says his mom is 29 years old when he gets hit by the car.)_

* * *

Atsuko pulled the wrapping paper off of the small giftbox with a gigantic grin on her face—and the grin only grew bigger when she uncovered the bottle of perfume inside its protective cardboard sleeve patterned with gold roses. "Yusuke, I love it!" she said as she took the bottle out and sniffed the perfume within. Her eyes screwed up in pleasure, but then they narrowed in suspicion. "Say. What's gotten into you, huh? You never remember to buy me a birthday present."

"What can I say?" Yusuke drawled with a shrug. "I like to keep you guessing, Mom. And happy birthday or whatever."

"Thanks, kid." She ruffled his hair and laughed when he snarled at her and frantically tried to fix his rumpled tresses. "Now go get me a beer, would ya? Mama's going out on the town for her big 2-7, and she's gotta pregame!" She sighed, sagging backward against the couch dramatically. "To think, I'll be 30 in just three years…"

Yusuke just grumbled that she'd be an old hag and stalked off into the kitchen, hands still busy fixing his hair. Atsuko laughed again and dabbed on some of her new perfume, its scent filling the tiny Urameshi living room to the brim. She was dressed to the nines in heels and a tight black dress, and as she took a mirror from her purse and began to apply a coat of fire-engine-red lipstick, I followed Yusuke into the kitchen.

He stood near the sink, twisting off the cap of a beer bottle with his bare hand. As the metal cap clattered into the sink, I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe and crossed my arms over my chest.

"So did they _really_ let you back into the department store after we trashed it?" I asked with undisguised skepticism. "Did they _really_ , Yusuke?"

Yusuke didn't turn around. "Looks that way," he grunted, and he stole a swig of Atsuko's beer.

"Why do I find that hard to believe?"

One brown eye glittered as Yusuke regarded me over his shoulder. "Would you believe that I'm just really persuasive?"

"Nope."

"Heh. Fine." He turned and grinned. "I swiped the perfume while they were busy kicking us out. Clever, right?"

I heaved a sigh and pressed my fingers to my temple. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because nothing gets past you, champ," he said with a devious wink, and he strutted past me into the living room with one of his most devilish laughs.

* * *

NOTES: _And there ya go! Three new ficlets (doubles of past prompts and an almost-sequel to one) for the price of one. There were supposed to be five new ones, but I somehow misplaced my notes for this series and I can't recall the final two (they were a third rendition of "chop" and a second of "bottle," for what it's worth). But oh well! Onto the final two prompts of this series…_


	30. Chapter 30: Jolt

**Day 30: "Jolt"**

* * *

Beneath the whirling star map overhead, Kagome twiddled her thumbs and waited.

Minato sat at the control panel across the cavernous space beneath the Game Center Crown arcade, typing quickly on a digital keyboard that glowed bright blue. He had been in the middle of something when she arrived, and she had the good sense not to interrupt him while he worked. Minato was grateful for that. He rather liked Kagome (although he did not know her as well as he knew Keiko just) but she was somewhat… what was the word? _Belligerently cheerful?_ Yes, that was it. She was belligerently cheerful and he had work to do, and sometimes these things were not expressly compatible.

But she waited in silence for him to finish his calculations, and when he finally swiveled toward her in his spinning chair, she gulped. Her thumbs twiddled harder. Minato's eyes narrowed, because these were obvious signs of stress. Stress and a request for a private meeting were unusual for Kagome. The captain was their typical content point, and Minato could not recall a time when he had met with Kagome sans Keiko's guiding presence.

Eventually Kagome swallowed again. "You can't freak out, OK?" she blurted.

One of his blond brows arched. Interesting. "Do I seem like the type to 'freak out' to you?" he said, keeping his face quite neutral.

"Not sure." Her head tilted to one side, curtain of black hair falling over her shoulder. "Still getting a read on you, if we're being honest."

He pretended to think about it, even though he had already observed as much himself. "I suppose we don't often interact alone," he said, "but rest assured that I am in complete control of my emotional response."

Kagome studied him with critical eyes. "Really?"

"Really."

"Well. OK, then." She spread her hands before her and took a deep breath. "Here goes nothin'."

For a moment, nothing happened. Minato had to wonder if Kagome was pulling some kind of oddball practical joke to facilitate the deepening of their friendship (she seemed the type to attempt such a stunt)—but then he felt it. In his teeth he felt a sensation not unlike building static, the kind that congregates in the air before a lightning strike. It buzzed against his gums like a swarm of fluttering moths, and soon Kagome gave a little hum, eyes falling shut as her fingers clenched.

White energy crackled around her fist, movement like a spiky, undulating tide, and from it came the zapping sound of a downed power line. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, but it took Kagome a moment more to unclench her fists and open her eyes again.

By the time she did so, Minato had composed himself—but only barely. His jaw had dropped upon seeing her power, but he had told her the truth. He was in control of his emotions, and he was not about to lose his grip on them just yet.

Kagome rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, lips pursed. She didn't seek out his reaction, eyes transfixed on her fingertips as she murmured, "The first few times were an accident. I reacted to one of Eeyore's non-human friends, once. Never told her. And we went on that trip down the well…" Finally her eyes, full of worry and uncertainty, met Minato's. "What happened there awoke something in me. Something awesome, but scary." She looked at her fingertips once more. "I'm not really meant to have this power. It's not mine, but it's in me, and I don't know what to do with it." A deep breath expanded her thin chest. "I thought maybe you'd understand, Minato."

He spoke only the truth when he told her, "I do."

A wry smile crossed her lips. "It's weird, isn't it?" Kagome gestured at her hands and then at the room around them—the room with its futuristic moon technology, the moving star map on the ceiling, the crescent moon symbols emblazoned on the silver walls. "We didn't earn what we can do, what we've been given. But it's still ours. It's still…"

Kagome hesitated.

Kagome said in a rush like a wind from a mountaintop, "I don't know what to do with this power, Minato. Do I throw canon to the wind and jump into that well? Hunt down demons and give them a taste of holy power? Continue being Kagome, the schoolgirl, and ignore it?" Her smile turned outright bitter. "That seems so wasteful…"

Minato asked, "Why did you come to me with this?"

She blinked, eyes wide and confused. "Huh?"

"Why me?" he pressed. "Why me and not Keiko?" When Kagome simply stared at him, nonplussed, he said, "The two of you are closer than you and I. You confide in one another constantly. To come to me with this is… unusual."

Kagome shook her head. "I just… I didn't want to upset her."

Minato frowned. "Why would your power upset her?"

Once again, Kagome hesitated.

And then in a voice like the thinnest of meager breezes, she admitted, "Because I have it, and she doesn't."

Minato's frown deepened. "She doesn't seem the type to let petty jealousy interfere in her relationships."

"No. But she _is_ the type to fake a brave face for my sake." Her smile turned grieved. "I don't want to hurt her like that."

Minato considered this in silence—and he remembered that night when he lay upon the floor beside Keiko and Kagome, gazing at the star map above at their insistence. That night, Keiko had talked at length of a power she might want. She had given great thought to the idea, to the hypothetical of being more than she was and of gaining a power that would give her strength. She had spoken with clarity, with intention—and with obvious longing. But her destiny dictated that she would only ever possess a power in her dreams, and that that longing was for naught.

Minato thought of this for a time in silence.

Then he said, "I think I understand."

Minato and Kagome talked long into the night, and when next they heard from Keiko, neither of them mentioned the conversation to her—for her sake, as well as theirs.

* * *

NOTE: _This can be considered a sequel to the "thunder" prompt (prompt #27)._

 _One final prompt left, and I'm excited for it, because it was the first one I actually came up with when this project first started!_


	31. Chapter 31: Slice

**Day 31: "Slice"**

* * *

Sighing, I pushed back from my desk and raised my hands high over my head. There was a crick in my neck, but the ache in my right forearm hurt worse. After my shoulders cracked, I massaged my arm as best I could, popping my fingers one by one with another long sigh. It hurt to write so much by hand, but it hurt a hell of a lot less than it had in my past life. Keiko's arms were both in perfect working order, bones whole and bereft of metal pins, muscles strong and lean from _aikido_. Would be a waste not to take advantage of my new working bone structure and write like hell each day, when in my last life my dominant hand had been anatomically incorrect and in constant pain.

Not that Yusuke could appreciate that. He just glared at me from his spot on my bed and groused, "Are you done yet?"

I scribbled another note at the bottom of the pager. "Just about."

"Good, 'cause I'm starving," he said—and when I kept tapping my pen against the journal lying open on the desk in front of me, finger and eyes tracing down the length of the handwritten page, he tossed a pillow at me. "What, did you forget something?"

"No." I scanned the words, the story they told playing in my mind's eye like a technicolor movie reel. "I was reliving something."

"Reliving?"

I hummed in affirmation.

"Reliving through your _journal?_ "

I hummed again. Yusuke just scowled.

"Well, I don't get it," he grumbled. "I also don't _care_ , but still. Don't get it."

I laughed and gestured at the open notebook. "I was writing about that time we fought that Venus flytrap demon in the alley over in Mushiyori. Remember? I stood on that dumpster and you knocked the demon toward me with a baseball bat and I slammed the dumpster shut to trap it. Worked like a charm. We're a good team."

"I guess," he said, but he still didn't seem to get it. "Why would you write about that, though?"

I shrugged. "Because it was fun. Scary, but also fun. And I wanted to be sure I remembered it." My head tipped back toward the ceiling, a smile playing across my lips of its own accord. "The flytrap incident with you, Kuwabara getting pummeled during training, Hiei stepping on my homework with a muddy boot, teasing Kurama about his hair…" I met his eyes as my smile widened, warming me down to my toes. "I don't want to forget even a minute of my time with all of you."

Understanding flickered in his gaze at last. "Is _that_ why you're always scribbling in these journals?" he said, though in his mouth it sounded like an accusation. "So you don't forget stuff?"

"Yeah. It is." I picked up the journal and shut the cover, holding it tightly to my chest so I could say, "I guess I just think that if you want to remember the little things, you should probably write them down."

"If you say so." He didn't look convinced as he swung his legs off the bed, although he also didn't argue—and with Yusuke, that was a win indeed. "But maybe you should start writing down when dinner time is, because I think you forgot that I'm hungry."

The comment was pure Yusuke, and his grumbling words made me laugh at once. "Fine," I giggled as I placed my journal back atop my desk. "Enough reminiscing—for today, I guess. Let's go."

He led the way from the room, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders slouched—posture as pure Yusuke as his words had been. I followed at a slower pace, and at the door to my room, I reached for the light switch with one final look at the journal lying still and inert upon my desk. Call me silly, but I smiled at the notebook, and I whispered a promise to return to it as I shut off the light.

It was a promise I had every intention of keeping, because my story wasn't over yet—and someday soon, I would no doubt need to fill that journal with more slices of my very lucky life.

* * *

NOTES: _And that's a wrap on this project, people. The minute I read ahead and saw the final prompt back on Day 1 of this project, I knew I'd have to connect it to "slice of life" and Keiko's journals. Wrote the fic's summary to reflect this last prompt because I can't help planning ahead. It's been a lot of fun getting here, to the prompt I was most excited about back when I started this collection of shorts six months ago. I think I learned a few things while writing this that I hope to carry forward into the bulk of LC proper._

 _I'll probably be back with another collection of vignettes and shorts this October for Inktober 2019. In the meantime, I'll see you in the pages of_ Lucky Child _. Thanks so much for reading, y'all._


End file.
